


chilly winter

by thanknamine



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Family-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2019-09-29 02:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 41,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanknamine/pseuds/thanknamine
Summary: a closer look into their life together. —sasusakusara; 50 drabbles/oneshot(s) challenge.





	1. sleep

**Author's Note:**

> hi all! finally decided to post this story here from my ff.net account with slight modifications; enjoy! (i don't own naruto.)

**1\. sleep**

.

.

Sarada watches through her thin scarlet frames how her Mama's mouth twitched upward and her Papa's usual scowl followed after hers. She watches through the minuscule creak of her parents' bedroom door at how lovingly they seemed, their two forms tucked underneath a comfy blanket that was taken out for especially cold weather like tonight. Her nose scrunches up bemusedly, using a finger to push up her frames back up upon the bridge of her little nose.

Eight year-old Sarada ponders why her Mama and Papa always sleep in the same bed—perhaps it was an adult thing? Maybe the parents of her friends all do the same thing? Who knows; Sarada grew up with her Papa mostly away. It's a _miracle_ itself he was here today. She flicks a loose hair behind her ear, still staring at her Mama's actions—she stares at Sakura's palm cradling Papa's face, tenderly. The young Uchiha female stares at her Papa's arms circling around her Mama's waist, both of them turned on their sides. Her Mama lets out a loving giggle and rests a single hand on her Papa's hands whilst she closes her eyes along with him.

Sarada's ears perks up with innocent curiosity when she hears the soft noise of her Papa inhaling the scent of her Mama's luscious rose-colored hair and what Sarada assumes to be her Mama's neck.

Honestly, Sarada already forgot the reason why she was even here and silently closes the door. Her tiny slipper-clad feet slides across the smooth floorboards until she hops into her bed and brings the covers over her freezing body after she sets her glasses delicately on her bedside drawer, next to her lamp and the Uchiha family photo they had taken when Sarada was born.

As her sleepy eyes close slowly, she briefly wondered will someone love her just like her Papa to her Mama? 

The towering dark shadow of the tree outside the Uchiha compound, outside Sarada's window, goes ignored as Sarada's thoughts brings her into a state of slumber. Sarada didn't seem to remember why it was so scary in the first place as her eyes rest. 


	2. love

**2\. love**

.

.

Sasuke cracks open an eye stealthily when he hears soft footsteps outside the bedroom, shifting the blankets further up to cover his shivering wife. The translucent covers of the window allowed the shimmering moonlight into their master bedroom.

His sleepy wife breaths, "Is she gone, Sasuke-kun?" She rubs her weary, dull viridian eyes as she stifles an upcoming yawn. The clock strikes at 1am, a time not meant for wandering eight year-olds out of bed. Sarada is rather smart for her age; Sakura is not mad, but merely piqued by this small act. On previous nights, Sarada had taken habit to knocking thrice, knuckles lightly tapping at the wood, and slowly lets herself in after a few moments of waiting. But she didn't do that this time, today.

Sasuke buries his face deep into her hair, his arm tightening around her tummy. In a loving gesture, plants a reassuring kiss on her head before he replies back gradually, "Yes, she's gone."

She furrows her brow at the thought of her daughter being up in the middle of the night. She worryingly, briefly, casts a diminutive glance to the door with thoughts in her head. She turns to her husband, who almost dozes off. "Maybe you should check on her." Sakura leans closer, "It's not like her to be up at such a time of day— _night_." She could go herself, but sleep is prominent in her half-lidded eyes and drowsy voice. Not to mention, it'd probably be better that way. Sasuke hardly went out of his way to stop by her room when he was around, opting to favor the living room the most and also his and Sakura's bedroom on some days.

He groans, an uncharacteristic move, but still sits up after releasing his hold on her. She couldn't blame him, not when he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while on the days he'd been gone. Sasuke's hand rubs the back of his neck. His questioning eyes peer at her; he was still having a desire to just collapse and sleep with her in his arms. Yet, he knows it's important to attend to his daughter's comfort— _if_ she needs it of course. His sore body yells at him, evident in his back and shoulders.

It's a dying battle; he would surrender, she could tell. He sighs, pushing the warm covers away from him; the cold air immediately basks him and he has half a mind to fall back now. "I'll be back," he tells her, trying to pull his long sleeve over his hand after he issues a curt nod. Sakura smiles, her back sinking deeper into the mattress, awaiting for him with sleepiness in her wake.

.

.

Sasuke hesitantly steps into the cold quiet room, making sure he didn't wake up his daughter. Splashing over him is the feeling of relief, and Sasuke allows a small smile to his pale face. He is a father now, something he thought he could never be. He is showered with love, something he thought he wouldn't get. He finally found love, something he thought he didn't _need_.

All that love gave him something too: a beautiful daughter. Sasuke vows to treasure her for as long as he can live. She's Uchiha Sarada. Daughter to Uchiha Sasuke and Uchiha Sakura. She is the Uchiha heiress. A proud future awaits her, and he can't wait to see it unravel—he'd seen the way her eyes glisten and her hands would ball up excitedly whenever she reports back her endeavors for the day, and all her talk of training and practicing could eat up hours of the day. She certainly has enthusiasm; he can fondly see Sakura whenever Sarada talks to him. 

Sasuke's hand reaches forward to brush away loose strands of her hair to prevent prickling into her beautiful onyx eyes—practically clones of _his_ eyes with a hint of cheery Sakura in them—for when she wakes up. He bends down to give her an affectionate pat on her head, being careful to not make her stir out of her slumber. Her blankets had slid down to her waist, and Sasuke made sure to place it back up to her chin—he also places an extra blanket to help preserve the warmness she felt because she certainly didn't need to experience the coldness he'd felt when he slept in this room, in this very house back when his days were so so much more happier.

.

.

"Sakura."

Sakura adjusts herself so she faces him, blowing away her messy bed hair she had obtained from the short amount of sleep she had gotten when he'd been with Sarada. "Yes, Sasuke-kun?"

Her husband lurches forward to gaze into her lovely eyes with an emotion Sakura could not describe with words. Sasuke murmurs, "I'm... grateful for our family."

She embraces him as best as she could with one arm because her other one seemingly fell asleep, whispering, "Me too, Sasuke-kun." She could tell what he meant, as usual. _I love our family so much. I love you. I love us._


	3. pain

**3\. pain**

.

.

Sakura stops in her task of watering the small vase of golden daffodils by the window when she heard a faint yell—a groan, one that expresses defeat, _frustration_ , but she wonders just why would she be frustrated now—coming from the living room. Instantly, she places the watering can down to run to the source. Apprehension, in an uncomfortable rush of adrenaline, piles in her stomach when she finds a pouting Sarada on the ground with a look that can tell anyone that she was not okay. Bravado mustered, she steps forward and bends directly next to her daughter, picking up the glasses which had fell from Sarada's flushed, vexed face. "...Sarada, what happened?"

Said girl merely huffs and crosses her arms. "Mama, boys are stupid," Sarada eventually claims, indignantly, lightning behind her darkening eyes and furrowing brow. 

In Sarada's right hand, Sakura spots a flower—a white camellia, to be exact—and she smiles broadly because she knows the secret meaning behind the flower. Poor Inojin; perhaps he's undergoing his puberty stage and became a little delusional to pick the wrong girl for his love life, maybe? Sarada isn't exactly the type for romance, considering who is her father. 

Sarada, however, stares at her mother bemusedly. As a person who never indulges herself in botany, she knows not why her mother smiles. She couldn't help but question, "Mama, why are you laughing?" Was it all a joke? She couldn't quite comprehend it as she reflects on Inojin's bashful face earlier this Tuesday afternoon, when the sun's light bounced off his trying smile towards her. He'd known her for a while, so why would he do that? ChouChou, quite the drama queen she proudly is, had given her a _look_ that moment—her best friend never said a word, but Sarada remembered ChouChou's quirked eyebrow when Inojin had been chattering away about today's lesson in school.

Gingerly, Sakura slips the glasses back on Sarada before she answers back with amusement, "Tell me Sarada, who gave you that flower?"

"It was Inojin; he kept just came over to my desk after school today and handed this—" Sarada gestures to her right hand. "—to me. When I asked him why, he just said he felt like it." Her fingers absentmindedly twirled the camellia's stem as her eyes wanders over its ivory petals. "Mama, why are boys so _weird_?"

Well, considering the boys she had grown up with, Sakura all but gives a low hum and tucks a loose pink strand behind her ear. "Who knows? Boys will be boys." As a loving, motherly gesture, she ruffles Sarada's hair, ignoring the girl's whines about having to comb her hair later. "What happened before he gave it to you?"

Sakura studies how her daughter's mouth droops suddenly, a look of aggravation fills into Sarada's eyes. "A classmate of mine insulted me and called me ' _stupid four-eyes_.'" Sarada scoffs as she continues, "Honestly Mama, I've got some of the best grades in the class, and she has the gall to call me that?" Were they simply raised to be kooks or were they just that rude? 

The pink-haired woman smiles once again, now knowing why her best friend's son had presented such a flower to Sarada. What a kind boy he is. "Come on dear, I'll start dinner. You can help me set the table. Don't think so much about it that your hair will fall off."

" _Ha ha_ , Mama. I'm going to find a vase for this first, though." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from what i searched, white camellias mean "you're adorable," and that was inojin's special way of cheering sarada up. hope that cleared up some confusion!


	4. sand

**4\. sand**

.

.

Sarada grips her Mama and Papa's hands tightly, and bites her lips. Her eyes roam over the stone the three of them stood in front of. She has to let go of her Mama's hands because Sakura has to take a step forward to set down the bouquet of lilies unto the stone's surface; Sakura makes a small prayer before stepping backwards again, her hands somberly resting behind her back, respect in her stance and a crestfallen frown on her lips.

The little girl's inquisitive eyes observe as her Mama gently nudges her Papa to step forward, and he complies. Sarada is young—currently living for eight years now—but even she knows that her Papa is a proud, prideful man; yet, she manages to catch sight of a single tear dripping from his closed eyes. Entranced, the young girl watches how it dripped onto the sand below them. Would the planet know how sad her parents are? 

Ailed with a depressing feeling stuck in her chest, Sakura lets a grimace overtake her when she stares at Sasuke from behind before her eyes stray to her daughter of eight. "Go on dear, give them a prayer too." Her voice seems to lack the usual chiming of bells and giggles prettily chorusing without a care in the world; Uchiha Sakura seems to be the epitome of a mourning wife, that she is right now, quite literally. She may not have known anyone in the family her husband grew up with (grew up and loved and treasured so, _so_ much), but she has the brains to tell that they had engraved a deep spot within Sasuke's heart, perhaps a spot that not even she can piece up if she tried. Sasuke loved these people—he _loved_ , _cherished_ , and _treasured_ them all. He respected his father, he adored his mother, and he loved his brother. Offering her presence on the anniversary day of their passing seemed to be the most she can do for them. Even the corners of their tombstones seem to be wearing out, bit by bit. In a few years, it'd be even more chipped. 

Sasuke humbly notes how his precious little girl prays to his precious deceased family and how her sleek onyx eyes wander from his parents—Uchiha Fugaku and Uchiha Mikoto—to his beloved brother, Uchiha Itachi. Sarada didn't know who these people are, but even she is willing to lend her condolences for them. Showing love for those who were loved—she is a true Uchiha.

In the next minute, Sasuke's lips quirks up ruefully at the thought of two of his favorite people being together. Surely, he knows Itachi would've been a great uncle. Sarada would've loved hopping into his lap when he's looking at his scrolls, and perhaps he might've feigned stealing her glasses just to extract a reaction from her. Itachi could've held her hand and taken her around the town. Fugaku could've let her hop on his back as he reads his newspaper. Mikoto could've hugged her every other hour of the day, shower her with loving kisses to the cheek, and let her be an assistant as she cooks breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

So much could've happened.

However, Sasuke looks up heavenward, a prayer in mind. Itachi was probably watching over him alongside his mother and father. Sasuke was content with that.


	5. glass

**5\. glass**

.

.

Her patience is like a glass window, fragile and could break from just a few harsh taps. Sarada's withdrawn eyes peer through the window of the living room, pressing her thin finger pads on its surface. Her ears pick up the cheery chirps the baby birds emit from a nearby tree, and she lazily counts all four of them. A few frozen pieces of precipitation falls delicately from above, but only a small coat of the cold whiteness covers the whole Uchiha compound. All was quiet, a little too quiet for her liking—this is rare, because she generally liked the silence. But not today.

Here she was, all alone, waiting for her parents to return.

Before leaving to the Hokage's office to discuss battle strategies with Shikamaru and Naruto, Sakura left a little post-it on the refrigerator door to inform her daughter of her whereabouts. It had been around 5pm, a little bit after Sakura's usual dismissal from the hospital. Naruto thought it was _funny_ (Sarada had to note with sarcasm at this; it isn't out of disrespect, but simply some child indignation) to summon her after that, to his office, when Shikamaru chimed, in a languid manner, that they needed some new strategies to go by (" _Naruto, sorry, but this plan seriously sucks and I've seen bad plans before._ "). Back in the Academy, Sakura's intelligence had been praised for, envied by many, so it would only be natural they would choose her to call up. Sarada remembered how her Mama's reluctance to go was shown through her sluggish stride and struggling gaze whenever Sarada had glanced at her.

Really, summoning her on the day Sarada got out of school _early_?

Sarada's lips morphs into a lonely pout, which makes her remember the time when Uzumaki Boruto was found defacing the Hokage faces and was scolded heavily by his father in front of mostly everyone. She really meant her words when she said she and Boruto were alike. Except Sarada, being the more sophisticated one of the two, never whines; she never risked anything dangerous as defacing the Hokages' faces, she never disobeyed her parents. Sarada's yearn for her Papa to stay home for more than two hours strengthens overtime, but she was never really completely alone. She has her mother with her; Sakura provides her with plenty of motherly love and hugs each day.

However, this still doesn't stops Sarada from having glass-like patience as she wistfully sighs because she only spots the pink hair of her Mama sliding the door open. No sign of her Papa, but she still waits because the sentence, "I'll be back before dinner," was written in his incredibly neat handwriting on another blue post-it next to Sakura's one.

Sasuke always did prefer leaving around the early hours of morning, when Sarada is still stuck in her state of slumber. Maybe, just maybe, he left early so he can be back in time for dinner today.

"Mama, welcome back!"


	6. glory

**6\. glory**

.

.

Sakura's mirthful eyes light up even more while she listens to Sarada gloat about getting another perfect score on a test. She laughs and rewards her with a huge warm hug and whispers, "Congratulations, honey!" Pride flourishes in Sakura's chest; Sarada's behavior now is akin to Sakura's own back when she still attended the Academy and her smarts ended up safely securing her in the list of top students of her class. Of course, Sasuke was always number one, but she had never minded being second or third because of that—she knew Sasuke deserves that spot; never would she feel inferior for it. He had a purpose for scoring such grades. She all but found it as a reason to boast. Her eyes of stunning green crinkling in silent glee, she knows fully well that Sasuke will be happy too once he comes home. He'd promised he'd be back today for a change. Sakura, with hope brimming in her heart almost achingly, planned to stay home and see to his return. Luckily Sarada brought back some news for a brief moment of entertainment, a new accomplishment for Sakura to exhibit her motherly love for. "You should wait until Papa comes back, and then you can tell him too!"

Feeling a bit drenched in her ego, which admittedly is a trait inherited from Sasuke, Sarada mopes when Sakura tells her to wait. "But Mama!" She hugs her test paper closer to her chest. "We could go and Skype with Papa right now!" Knowing Sasuke, he'd bring that phone of his everywhere, even if he does seem to prefer the old fashioned way of communicating (that hawk of his is probably not even at Naruto's office right now, so to speak). Hardly even exchanging words with him, she wanted to talk to him! She wanted to see what he'd react with to her test grade. Surely, it's just trivial in his eyes, menial—but, she feels that he'd be proud of her either way. That's what parents do, right? Be proud of their children's accomplishments? They smile at them, praise them? During some days, Sarada could feel the twinge of jealously blooming in her heart whenever she'd see parents flocking to their children with a prideful grin and give out a pat or hug. Sure Sakura does that a lot for her, but... She'd like to see some signs of support from her Papa too. She would _love_ it.

Sakura gives up when she meets Sarada's glossy, expectant eyes and sighs, not feeling upset in the slightest bit. She too wishes to see him anyways. He could be in the middle of a mission right now; he could be in danger and here they were, thinking of distracting him with a call! She'd like to think Sasuke wouldn't mind, if he were truly not busy right now, but a small piece of her conscious seems to doubt this whole situation. Although... The more Sarada looked hopelessly desperate, the more Sakura's will seem to wither away. With Sarada's face in her mind, Sakura rushes to get her laptop as her daughter sits on the living room couch, anxiously swinging her stocking-clad legs back and forth.

.

.

"Hi Papa!" Sarada jubilantly waves as she settles herself on Sakura's lap, the latter also not hesitating to greet him with a wave and smile too. Sakura tenderly looks at the screen, relieved, to notice the lack of action going on, confirming that her husband is indeed in the middle of doing nothing. They hadn't caught him in a bad time, for which she's happy for—it wouldn't do anyone any good if he was forced to discard the call and let Sarada's feelings get crushed (even the Uchiha has their weak moments, she notes, amused).

Happiness makes Sasuke wave back to the screen of his iPhone, glad to see his wife and daughter greeting him with love. He notes Sarada's pink cheeks and assumes she has good news for him as he questions, "So how's my little salad doing?" Terms of endearment weren't really his style, but really, only Naruto— _that idiot_ —would judge him on that, and Naruto is nowhere to be found. Practically anyone is safe except him, and knowing Sakura, she's giggling at this nickname in her head. He isn't blind to the stifling of her smile behind Sarada.

Amused giggles fled Sakura's lips as she tries—and _fails_ —to cover them up when Sarada yells indignantly at the nickname he sometimes calls her, "Papa! How many times have I told you not to call me that!?"

"Sorry dear," he chuckles heartily, not really sorry at all. He'd hardly the family man type, but he supposes that she brings it out of him whenever she wanted, which is quite a talent. "Back to the topic, Sarada."

Her eyes glimmer with childish excitement. "Papa, look!" 

Sasuke gazes at the bright red letter 'A' that sat on top of Sarada's name and he nods in his usual manner, but Sakura can see the pride swelling in his eyes. "That's great." 

.

.

"Papa, when are you coming home?" Sarada inquires for what Sasuke and Sakura believes to be the fourth time all in one Skype call. Her tone contains impatience, but she tries and struggles to be the opposite. She knows he's busy, truly she does, but apart of her just wanted to be selfish for once. Prodigy or not, she's a child, so let her whine for a change! 

With the patience of a saint, Sakura hugs her from behind like how a little child would hug their teddy bear and consoles gently, "Papa will be home by tomorrow, okay, Sarada?" Her fingers gently rake through her child's hair, soft strokes and all.

"Sarada, promise me you'll behave," Sasuke begins shortly after her, "Just like what your mother said, I'll be back by tomorrow, but since nightfall is arriving, I have to go." _You should be in bed._ It doesn't escape his lips, because she's right in front of him, calling him around the stroke of 11:30pm. He'd let it slide, just this once.

Sarada opens her mouth, then closes it for a bit, the words just shy of jumping off her tongue. "Fine... I expect you to hold your word to it!" Behind her, Sakura smiles, endearingly, lovingly.

"Good girl." Sasuke nods approvingly. He'd only been in a village nearby Konoha; it was by sheer coincidence, but it did give him less of a trip to make back. Naruto did reassure him that sometimes, it was fine to take breaks. Sasuke hears those words a lot, but he still needs to cope with it somehow, _for his family_.

Sarada raises a hand to wave goodbye, but quickly remembers something. "Oh—Papa, one more thing! Don't go yet!"

Upon hearing her sudden statement, a startled Sasuke takes his finger off the 'End Call' button, and keenly pays attention to her. An eyebrow arched, and he motions for her to continue.

"I love you, Papa!" Sarada grins, adjusting her glasses. Sakura's eyes meets Sasuke's surprised ones, and her eyes spoke ' _I love you as well_ ' to him.

When he looks at Sarada's innocent face, he hides a smile behind his cloak's collar, ending the call at last. He didn't have to say it back—it wasn't him to do that, and she knows it. Sakura knows it. They can tell what he felt about it. He trusted them to.

 


	7. moonlight

**7\. moonlight**

.

.

Sarada sleeps under the safe remains of her blankets, occasionally tossing and turning. She also mumbles softly, but didn't wake up. Sakura has a smile glued on her face as she slowly closes Sarada's bedroom shut. Later, as the moon shines downward, filling Sarada's room with stunning rays of moonshine, she shows signs of stirring. She groggily peeks open one eye and rubs it with a curled fist, sitting up. Sarada wonders if she should close the curtains, but goes against it because she enjoys basking under the light of the moon. 

The sound of the front door shutting enters Sarada's half-asleep ears and suddenly alerts her. Instead of going to the source, she approaches the window in her bedroom. Intruders don't just close the door so softly—they might as well never close it, letting it open by the slightest of cracks and they'd escape ever so soundlessly. Even being half-asleep, it doesn't dull her common sense; it wasn't an intruder that the door had closed for. 

The sight of her Mama and Papa outside shocks Sarada, but her eyes remain absorbed, fascinated. She gazes at the bench that her Mama and Papa takes a seat on; her Papa sits straight, back against the stone, and her Mama's head makes itself comfortable on his shoulder. The seconds tick by, followed by agonizingly slow minutes—Sasuke and Sakura did nothing as they sit and smile and sit some more. This left Sarada curious. She blinks at her parents, her arms tucked on top of the window sill and her chin lightly pressing over an arm. 

Sasuke lets his head lean downward, in a rare affectionate manner. Sakura looked as if she'd fallen blissfully in love all over again, with the way her lips prettily smile and her eyelashes bashfully dusting on her cheeks every glance she casts downward. It tops just about anything romantic Sarada had ever witnessed with her own two eyes.

She indistinctly remembers her Mama saying that this particular bench was special to her and Papa, but Sakura has never told Sarada the reason why exactly. Sakura said almost the same thing— _"I'll tell you when you're older!"_ —when Sarada tried to pry for answers, whined and complained all the same, but the results would feature a classic mischievous Sakura wink.

So, Sarada takes her eyes off the bench and lies back under the blankets, going back to her dream. Sarada figures if her parents were sneaky enough to sneak out during midnight to that special bench, then she shall not bother either of them.


	8. happiness

**8\. happiness**

.

.

Sakura sees a fretting Sarada sitting at the dining table through her peripheral vision and hears the audible mumbling Sarada makes as Sarada stares at the vase of sunflowers in front of her. Sakura shifts her eyes up to the clock, her hands wiping a dish dry. Both girls already ate dinner, so now Sarada waits for Sasuke's return with a look—a fusion of anxiousness and boredom—and counting by the hour hand. Sakura hums a cheeky tune as an attempt to lighten the mood; she has grown tired of hearing the ticking of the clock and sometimes, Sarada's bored yawn.

.

.

"Finally, you're back!" Sakura beams, eyes lit and reflecting off the brightness of the lights, helping Sasuke remove his cloak by the doorway. Her vocals come out soft, in mere sweet whispers. "She's been waiting for a while now, y'know. Ever since dinner." Even refused to go to bed at some point, all just for him. Sleep did eventually win, but Sarada's efforts were quite persistent—Sakura, however, knew to wait by the couch, a blanket folded by her side as she, amused, watches the battle. 

Sasuke chuckles, lowly and deeply, holding a sunflower in his hand. "Well, it's hard to search for these in forests near Ame," he tells her with a smirk. "I'd hate to destroy the tradition by coming home early without it."

Perked and giggling, Sakura begins to shake her head, letting a laugh or two intercept her speech. "She already fell asleep, but I can go wake her up." An index finger points to the living room, where Sarada is at, her face buried into her arms on the table, blanket draped at her shoulders. 

Quick to react, he stops her with a hand on her shoulder. "Don't," he interjected steadily, meeting her eyes with a look that she knew all too well from their early years. "Let her rest; I can see her tomorrow."

Knowing better than to argue, Sakura agrees and takes off her ponytail, brushing a hand through it and scowls at the tangled strands. She excuses herself to the bathroom. 

Sasuke strolls into the kitchen for a glass of water, but stops shortly when he sees Sarada's peaceful figure sleeping on the living room table. The blanket over her indicates to him that Sakura was okay with her sleeping there—or, Sakura understood another reason why she'd been so adamant to stay up. A bit of guilt drenched his heart, but he wills himself to walk by her.

The sunflower Sarada hugs to her face catches Sasuke's full attention and the sight makes him smile, just by a bit. He carefully takes her in his arm, and he's already forwarding to her room. The sound of running water from the bathroom and Sakura's loud humming soothes Sasuke's ears when he passes their master bedroom. Sakura always did preferred long bubble baths for relaxation, especially during the longer, tiresome days of work. He found it a bit odd whenever he used the bathroom and sees all the leftover bubbles, but it always smelled so much nicer—almost like cherry blossoms.

Sasuke tucks the sunflower he came home with on Sarada's side table, and pats her head after he ruffles her hair. He'd missed the way she smiled after he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i found this cool explanation about sunflowers representing long life, good luck, vitality, intelligence, and happiness, so hence this drabble!


	9. alphabet

**9\. alphabet**

.

.

"Okay, Sarada-chan, the letter 'r' stands for—"

"—Rabbit."

"Yes—" Naruto pauses, abruptly, quick and fumbling at the _unasked_ for answer. "SASUKE, DON'T INTERRUPT ME!"

Four year-old Sarada blinks as she looks between her Papa and Uncle Naruto bickering in front of her and tilts her head to the side. "So Papa, the letter 'r' stands for 'rabbit?'"

Sasuke issues a nod, one that Sarada recognizes to be the nod that no one could go against—not even Uncle Naruto, the Nanadaime. "Yes." 

Scoffing, Naruto had taken a liken to giving the evil eye out to her Papa because Sarada remembered that Mama said that they liked fighting a lot. She'd always wondered _how_ bad the fights would get. "Why 'rabbit' when it could be—"

Sasuke rubs his temple when an aggravating feeling made his vein pop. "For the last time, idiot, she is not putting down 'ramen' for her project." Let him be _damned_ if he allowed such a stupid idiot influence his own child. Hokage or not, he still knew Naruto as the bumbling fool he'd grown up with who always needed to pee in the forest when girls were present and felt validated over every Ichiraku coupon he got.

"BUT RAMEN STARTS WITH THE LETTER 'R!'" Naruto bangs his fist on the table when he narrows his eyes at Sasuke. "How is that invalid? Or do you really just not like ramen? I got a bone to pick with you for that, still!"

"You're just hungry right now, huh, idiot?" He never forgot those old days where the blond idiot badgered him, morning till noon, about grabbing a bowl of ramen from Ichiraku's. Sasuke is actually quite indifferent to it, but he cannot stand to eat it every day, every second—the fool doesn't understand that regular people liked _different_ food. 

Naruto growls, but did not reach to—probably—strangle Sasuke since a befuddled Sarada still sits in the room. "One day... I'll get you back for this..." Calling him an idiot and belittling ramen! Talk about rude! And in front of his own daughter! Even Sakura would've agreed to, at least, _one_ bowl before she'd knock him on the head for annoying her too much.

Promptly ignoring him, Sasuke pats Sarada's head, his eyes showing approval when he sees her drawing a rabbit on a small, handmade booklet. "So have you decided what to put for letter 's' yet, salad?"

"Don't call me that, Papa," Sarada automatically sighs, cradling her chin in one resting palm and sighs. "I was thinking of putting a sunflower for letter 's.'"

"Good choice." Sasuke nods as Naruto flashes her a friendly, warm smile and a thumbs up. He could tell the idiot was still vexed about earlier—the most prominent piece of proof being his twitching eyebrow.

Sarada starts to drift to her thoughts. "I like sunflowers, Papa. They seem so sunny, warm, and pleasant. And, they remind of Uncle Naruto."

Naruto, flattered and forgetting his troubles, crushes Sarada in a bear hug, ruffling her little head of hair with his bubbly eyes and melting heart. Sasuke makes some mental notes to himself as he stares at the sunflower Sarada had drawn.

 


	10. doll

**10\. doll**

.

.

Baby Sarada plays with her doll, a mini tyrannosaurus rex—its paws stick outward, almost as if it were in need of a hug and every time, Sarada complies. Her wondrous big eyes twinkle with glee as she tosses the doll up and down in the air, catching it in her chubby hands each time. She gurgles and lets out mirthful giggles; Sakura, in the background, stops folding her laundry to offer a roll of her eyes coupled with a humored smile. She hadn't remembered how the doll came to be. Sasuke had came up one day, all tired and dirtied and covered in dust, with it clutched in a hand and when he gave it away to her, Sakura mused on how bad it must've been rummaging through the old, old boxes of memories for it. 

( _"It needed a new home," he'd told her once, giving one shrug. Simple and short, and then he poofs away, to who-knows-where._ )

Uchiha Sarada _loves_ this doll. Sakura bets she would've gone after it if she'd tossed it to the distance like a toy for a puppy.

A few hours ago, she'd given up warning the gurgling baby about the dangers of tossing things so instead, she takes out her iPhone to snap some pictures of her baby playing with her husband's favorite childhood doll—she might use one of them as her phone background later, forward one to Sasuke when he's napping later too.

She thought about it—Sakura contemplates on how Sasuke even kept such a thing safe and clean from dust after all these long years. He must have his reasons. Sarada enjoys the doll, and Sakura couldn't help but hug her little baby close to her chest as Sarada plays with it. "Selfie time!" comes a delighted yell, Sakura's thumb already pressing the button and Sarada squeals in return.

Sakura decided to send Sasuke the picture a little bit after Sarada's bedtime.

.

.

Sasuke fondly smiles at his lock screen picture of a one year-old Sarada astoundingly gazing into the camera as she hugs his— _her_  doll tightly. He hasn't changed that picture from his lock screen for a few years now; it meant too much. Surely, Itachi was fine with his old present to Sasuke being handed down to someone else who'll love it in his stead—Sasuke's much too old anyways.


	11. syringe

**11\. syringe**

.

.

 

"Haven't seen it," mutters Sasuke, busily reading a scroll on the living room couch, ignoring the way Sakura skitters around the space in fret. With a leg crossed over his other leg and composure casual—back softening against the couch, a comfortable feeling he hadn't experienced with the trees he'd sleep against during missions—he soon sighs when she comes over, lifts the bottom of his scroll's contents, and peer anxiously. He hadn't a clue why it meant so much to her.

Her gaze refocuses on him, and he can see just how frazzled she looks with her disheveled hair and circles underneath those eyes. "B-But, I could've sworn it was here last night before I went to bed...!" Trying a little more, her hands pry apart the couch cushions that Sasuke wasn't sitting on; she'd send a critical eye over each nook and cranny and crack she's looking at, and to no avail, so it seems. "It couldn't have rolled down even further... I didn't see it in the bedroom either..." she murmurs, more to herself, in thought. 

Sasuke thought she was letting it get to her. "Ask Sarada...?" he ended up suggesting, almost awkward that he couldn't be of much help. She motions him to stand and he gets the implication. He complies and she immediately lifts up the cushion he'd sat on just to see if it was hiding there. It wasn't. Another fail. He sighs _for_ her, because it didn't seem like she was going to for herself. "It was empty, right? It shouldn't be too bad then."

He's a little taken aback by how quickly she whipped her head to him, the faintest of bone cracking evident to his ears, which he wouldn't— _couldn't_ —comment on. "It's a _syringe_ , Sasuke-kun! A syringe I had to bring back to test out a new antibiotic from the labs, which I did, but then it _disappeared_ not even ten hours later." Her hand wearily plows through her bangs. "I made sure to empty it, but I think some of the residue was still in it. I can't imagine if you or Sarada accidentally got poked by it or something if it's lost in this house somewhere, _especially_ Sarada!" 

"It'll be fine," he tries—really tried—to reassure, his hand still holding onto his scroll, which left for him to console with words, which he could tell didn't really do a thing for her flaring nerves. "Sarada knows not to mess with stuff she doesn't own, after all." Really, this was blown out of proportion.

She bites her lips, something he takes note of. "Still...! I'd like to find it; I'm sure the people down at the hospital would like it back!" 

"Don't you have extras?" He raises an eyebrow at her. He would expect doctors— _head_ doctors—to have extra syringes.

In a shameful manner, Sakura chuckles, meekly. "That syringe was actually my last one, and the new shipment has yet to come..." There had been a rush of new patients this month; some serious, others more life-threatening, and some that were almost trivial. As the head doctor, she sometimes lent her supplies to the assisting nurses and doctors on duty, that included Ino and Shizune. Sometimes, she might've been a kind-hearted fool enough to let them keep them—really, what was she going to do with _fifty_ extra syringes during a spreading epidemic? "I've been requested to bring it back. Not to mention, I'm supposed to head down there today—but oh! I can't because it's _missing_!" What kind of head doctor was she?

Sarada came into the living room hallway right when Sakura collapses on the couch, tired from her search. Left standing, Sasuke nods at her. "Mama, you look tired."

"Don't I know and feel it," wryly comments Sakura, a humorless smile showing. "You haven't see a syringe lying around, have you, Sarada? I need it before I head to the office today."

With Sakura not looking at anything but a hand she covered her eyes with, Sasuke regards his daughter instead. When he sees the exact syringe in question behind her back, he all but looks confused, almost ready to point it out, until Sarada quickly holds a finger to her lips. He didn't know what to feel about it, but surely, she has reasons for it, and so, he stays quiet. "No, I haven't Mama. Maybe you misplaced it somewhere else?"

"I did check everywhere else! My room, the bathroom, the basement, the gardens— _everywhere_!" Defeated, she starts, slowly, falling to her side and resting on a pillow, which Sasuke found rather amusing because she forgot to put back the other cushions on the couch and are at her feet on the floor. 

"Bummer..." Sarada trails off, feigning disappointment. "I guess this means you can't down to the hospital today, right? You look sleepy; you should take a nap. I'm sure Aunt Ino is handling things alright." 

Well, Ino _is_ her right hand assistant... But still, she shakes her head as best as she could with half-lidded eyes. "Head doctors shouldn't skip out on their duties!" It's funny, how she sounds drowsier the more she leans on this pillow. "I... should... go..." Sasuke watches as her eyes hide behind her eyelids, her breathing turning softer and she goes out like a flame. 

He doesn't say anything—there really is no point to punishing Sarada, because it seemed like this is why the syringe went missing in the first place—but moves to place his scroll down. Quiet, Sarada tiptoes to the main entrance, slipping on her sandals and giving him a firm nod as she holds the syringe up for silent, visible emphasis. She's going to sneak into Sakura's office to place it back. Normally, this behavior wouldn't be condoned (and maybe, _maybe_ , he's softening up too much for his liking) but she gets pass for it. Sakura hadn't slept for more than a couple hours these past few days. 

A blanket Sasuke takes out from the closet, he covers her, and then he strokes her hair, fondly. Maybe he can read his scrolls in their bedroom instead, just for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read the original version on my ff.net, i've completely rewritten it. enjoy!


	12. roses

**12\. roses**

.

.

Sarada once remember her Aunt Ino explaining to her that flowers—all of them—have a specific, special meaning behind them. There exists more about a flower behind its colored petals and stem if one would just find the time to dig deeper. When Aunt Ino lends her a book from her shelf to indulge little Sarada, she already cracks it open the moment it was entrusted into her hands, the unique smell of book paper basks on Sarada's nose and inside her nostrils. 

She'd read it for a few minutes, only looking up from the pages and to see that an hour or so had passed rather than the fifteen minutes she'd envisioned. Ino had pondered, for some time, if giving her that book was a good idea; last thing she needed was a raging Sakura pounding her door down. But the more she observes Sarada's delighted eyes and awestruck lips, the more Ino felt that maybe she had just opened a brand new perspective for her.

 

.

.

**( _i. pink_ )**

Sarada lurks behind the huge stack of presents after she gave Sakura a congratulatory hug. Sakura's other friends and family does the same and offer her smiles for her birthday, but Sarada merely uses the commotion to scope. Aunt Ino had allowed Sarada to keep her flower book after seeing how Sarada was attached to it ( _"Sure, you can keep it! I can always buy another one. Just take good care of it, okay?"_ ) and it wasn't like Ino didn't already owned about a good chunk—93%—of all the botany-related books Konoha had to offer.

Aunt Ino offers Sakura a rose, promptly making Sarada turn to her bookmarked page of the book. Aunt Ino releases Inojin's hand to lean forward and hug her longtime best friend, and gives Sakura a vast grin—Ino proceeds to walk away to bring Inojin to where the other children were playing at, sans Sarada, of course. Nobody seemed to be curious of her whereabouts; maybe Boruto told people that she felt like she was _too cool_ for birthday parties, which she laughs at a lot—let her be damned if she missed her own Mama's birthday. Sarada scoffs momentarily before reading the meaning of Aunt Ino's rose to her mother, which glows an innocent bright pink.

_(Pink roses—a token of appreciation and admiration.)_

.

.

**( _ii. white_ )**

As she walks around aimlessly through the streets of Konoha, Sarada stops to hide behind a tree near Ichiraku because she knows if she walked any further, she would've interrupted a sweet moment. She peeks out an eye to see the Nanadaime, Uzumaki Naruto, grinning as if the sun was a piece of him as he gives his wife, Uzumaki Hinata, a certain flower that sparks Sarada's knowledge-loving mind. Noting that Boruto and Himawari were by Naruto's side, Sarada reels herself back a little.

Before Sarada could read its significance, Naruto guffaws aloud, heartily and cheerily, as his arm slips around his wife's shoulders appreciatively. Hinata, with pink colors prettily at her cheeks, slips the flower behind her ear before she runs—almost apprehensively—after Himawari, whose arms were flailing and flailing as she runs to the direction of the Hyūga compound. Boruto sighed, exasperatedly, as if he were embarrassed whilst Naruto casually chuckles, grabbing his son's hand before going off on a slight sprint to catch up.

Sarada could hear Boruto's complaints, but she could hardly focus on it as she reads her book.

_(White roses—a perfect way of saying "I'm thinking of you.")_

.

.

**( _iii. orange_ )**

"Hey Himawari!" Sarada hears Boruto bellow, and she grumbles to herself how he has the energy to sound so _loud_. "I have something for you!"

"What—" Himawari speaks back, putting down her doll to regard him with wide inquisitive eyes. "—is it, onii-chan?"

Normally, Sarada doesn't care about what the Uzumaki siblings did, but she—yet again—looks into Aunt Ino's book for an answer she wants to her question when she saw what was in Boruto's hand. She hears Himawari reply to her brother with a jubilant "Thank you!" and tackled him when Sarada hears him grunt rather loudly from her impact.

Though, Himawari tells Boruto with a small grin, "But I think it suits you too." Nonetheless, her petite hands slip the flower into her hair and for a moment, she pauses before she stands up, fingers picking at the edge of her sundress. A twirl and another twirl, Himawari grins almost dreamily. "Now I feel like a princess!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Boruto pouts at her other statement when his little sister stands on her tip-toes to ruffle his hair messily, which he _had_ to tackle her back for. 

_(Orange roses—symbolizing enthusiasm, passion, gratitude, they are the wild child of the rose family.)_

.

.

**( _iv. yellow_ )**

When Sakura buys a rose after she bought her groceries, Sarada tilts her head at her, but stays quiet when her Mama strays from the usual path home and steps into a familiar place filled with flowery goodness.

Inojin looks up from his conversation with ChouChou and Shikadai to greet Sarada with a small wave, as did the other two, and resumes their conversation. Being polite as she was taught, Sarada allows herself to nod in his direction. She'd wished to join them, but she knew she has limited time here and had to go with her Mama to help put away the groceries and start on lunch. Seemed too bad; it seemed like ChouChou was offering samples of a new flavor of chips she'd bought.

"Hey, Ino-pig!"

( _Sarada once questioned her Mama's habit of calling Aunt Ino that nickname, but all Sakura told her was, "It's an affectionate thing we had since childhood!"_ )

"Forehead, why did you give me a flower when you  _know_  I run a flower shop?" Aunt Ino inquires as she raises an eyebrow and she leans forward on the counter, idly twirling Sakura's gift in her fingers, an unspoken challenge sparking in her eyes.

" _Ha ha_ ," Sakura dryly laughs (Sarada wonders if some of her Papa's dry humor rubbed off on her) and waves a dismissive hand. "You know what day it is, right, Ino-pig?"

"Oh? It was a special day today?" Even Sarada could hear the fake obliviousness in her voice, and Sarada flinches when her Mama glares at her aunt. "Yeah, yeah, I know," Aunt Ino laughs, freely exposing her amusement. "Today's the day when we first met!"

"Exactly. So here, I picked this up on the way here." Sarada did't even notice her Mama buying that—after all, people bought flowers _here_ and not elsewhere.

"Gee thanks, I'll be sure to add this to my collection of many,  _many_  roses."

"Why do I bother with you sometimes?"

"Because you obviously love me too much?"

" _Ha ha_."

Ino lightly whacks her on the arm and then pokes her shoulder with a finger. "You've been around Mr. Grumpy Pants for too long."

"Well he  _is_  my husband..."

_(Yellow roses—they are a traditional symbol of friendship, a perfect way to say thanks or just, "Hey, thanks for being you.")_

.

.

**( _v. red_  )**

Sarada's eyes never budged a bit when she witnesses her beloved Papa handing her beloved Mama a rose—its deep vermilion hue instantaneously attracts Sarada as if she were a hummingbird. 

Sakura, with cheeks tinged pinker and lighter than the flower, smiles and smiles some more, letting Sasuke see the stars in her eyes. Sasuke allows her to hug him, wraps her arms around and clutch at the back of his cloak as her face buries into his chest, and he, in return, would let his chin rest upon her head as he inhales. From her perch outside the window, Sarada continues to watch—Sasuke whispers something to Sakura and even though her Papa's back is to her and blocking her Mama's face, she can make out the briefest movement of Sakura's shoulders. Practically the sun was engraved on her smile as Sakura finally cants her head up, meeting her husband's face with love and adoration as if she'd found the moon to her sun, the night to her day. 

Finding the moment much too intimate, Sarada gives them some privacy, quietly tiptoeing off as Sakura had gripped onto Sasuke's collar, lips ready awaiting. Once far enough, she hastily turns to the rose section of Aunt Ino's book and presses her fingers along the page until she found her answer.

_(Red roses—a way to say "I love you.")_


	13. moon

**13\. moon**

.

.

Sakura's cloudy eyes stares at the sight of the full moon from her bedroom window, her lips parted open by a few centimeters. Her nostrils inhale and exhale slow, deep breaths—her nose turns a light pink; she had been cold from the evening wind, but she refuse to leave for a jacket or a blanket, not even a quilt. All common sense seemed to have fled her, her loneliness overtaking whatever senses she has left.

With the light shimmering past the window, she solely peers at the moon; memories from long ago sweeps through her like a quick flowing river. She briefly casts a glance at her door; Sarada breathes heavily from her bedroom, making ruffling noises, which Sakura assumes Sarada was tossing and turning with her blankets, but regardless, still asleep. She couldn't tell what's worse—the only person she could talk to being asleep or the love of her life being back on the road, leaving Sakura behind with an aching and yearning. She couldn't bother Ino either; Ino has her own family, her own life—a husband and son, one who regularly patrols the village and the other who diligently attended school. Sometimes, she wouldn't admit, Sakura envied those types of families, only a bit when she's alone.

The evening's breeze blows across Sakura's bangs and face, and she closes her overcast eyes to enjoy the feeling.

She thinks back to  _that_  day—she still clearly remembers the moon shining its light over her head when she, eyes brimming with emotional tears, raised her voice at his back. She remembered his voice thanking her; she remembered it was dusk when it all happened. She could remember the aching of her back when she woke up on that bench the following early morning. She could still remember his face. She could remember his voice that day.

She remembered it all.

When a long sigh is exhaled, she notices how the moon seem to be everywhere whenever something big happens in her life—all it does is symbolizes how they were both under the same sky, under the same moon, under the same stars.

Heaving one final sigh, Sakura shuts her window shut and half-heartedly spares Sasuke's empty side of the bed a glimpse before her eyes close for the night.

He'll be back soon. He promised her.


	14. sing

**14\. sing**

.

.

 

Outside of Sarada's room, Sasuke adjusts himself, stepping near the walls until his shadow is hidden from the doorway where light from her room shined on. The clock he'd taken a glance at earlier keeps ticking, ticking, ticking away—and without straining his ears, he listens to Sakura hum a small melody under her breath. It'd been awkward for Sasuke to see Sarada; she'd only been born for a couple of weeks—five weeks, actually—and there hadn't been a day where could feel comfortable enough to see her. He's doing better than four weeks ago, but he's still adjusting, slowly. 

On some days, Sakura had to rest and sleep, a result of after childbirth, and Sarada was left to either Karin or Sasuke to take care of. Karin frequently entertained the girl. Sometimes Karin would let her fumble with relatively safe objects in the lair, she'd let Sarada crawl to corners of the room that Sasuke had click his tongue at ( _"What? She's obviously enjoying it! Let a girl have a fun."_ ) before swiping her off to place her on a chair where she'd count the patterns on the walls instead. He left her alone as quickly as he was when he'd swiped her away; he didn't know how to react to a baby. This was all too new. He didn't know how to handle children, not when he didn't really have the sunniest collection of childhood memories. He took away so much with this hand of his—and with the one he'd lost—and it didn't seem right to hold her. She was too... new to the world, much too innocent. 

He wasn't sure if he could be a father. 

Karin would make a comment or two ( _"Geez, even_ Jūgo _wouldn't be this afraid and y'know how he is, Sasuke."_ ) but would most often keep Sakura company during times when Sasuke felt too intimidated to approach Sarada. Sakura, understanding why he'd feel that way, would become understanding, but would also be partially exasperated all the same, given how skittish he's being or how he's still living in the past so it seems. 

It had taken him some time—Karin kept count of the four weeks they had spent at her lair as if she were hosting some daycare center, which she definitely did _not_ do—until he could get used to it with some persuasion on Sakura's end. It had been on a Saturday morning. Sarada couldn't sleep and Karin had to step out; Sasuke was in the other room, cleaning his sword as a past-time, and he could hear the low soothing hums from Sakura's song as she tried to put her to sleep. It's a gentle song, wordless, but the tune is sweet and loving, one that Sasuke found himself at peace with whenever he heard it. When Sarada was put to sleep that day, Sasuke finally held her before they went home.

They spent a whole week at the Uchiha compound as Sakura was on maternity leave, and Naruto was kind enough to let Sasuke spend some time at home, sparing him of lists and lists of missions. Throughout the passing nights, Sasuke taken a habit to listening to her idle humming whenever it was time to put Sarada to bed—he'd close his eyes and lean on the wall. Those moments, he found most cherished to him; there was something about that song that soothed him and cast away whatever fears he'd felt. 

Sasuke gives a smirk, almost a smile, when the lights to Sarada's room clicked off and Sakura's song trails off and exits to greet him.


	15. power

**15\. power**

.

.

**( i. _mother's side_ )**

In the back of the room, Sakura watches Sarada watch Sasuke.

Sasuke, sighing with a pair of tired dark eyes contrasting his insipid skin, already told Sarada, "It's complicated..." Sakura notes that his voice is trailing, softly and as if he didn't want their offspring to know _more_. "You're not ready yet." 

"But Papa!" Sarada was never one to accept ambiguity in answers; she liked things simple, curt and straight-forward, something Sasuke liked to mix up with his silly riddles. He's a master of both languages—and quite frankly, Sakura could understand why their daughter bites at her lower lip, her right leg looking restricted like it was ready to stomp in a fury of indignation. But it wasn't Sakura's place to interrupt; this topic wasn't hers to discuss. It never was, not when the flashes of childhood, bittersweet and flashes of red popping up, came to mind and the feeling made Sakura dread what else could come.

" _Enough_ , Sarada."

She thought she had seen it all, seen all of the _pain_ Sasuke went through just to snatch some more powers for himself, for his goals, for his cracking heart. Seeing the heartbreak on Sarada's face seemed to give off some semblance of those dark days as reflected by her raging eyes, her frustrated noises. Heart uneasily beating from the tension, Sakura quietly goes back to her medical books for their privacy—though it soon fails, because it's evidently by her perking ears and meddlesome heart and the adverting of her eyes from the book to their backs that reading can't distract her anymore at this point.

Respectfully trying her utmost best to ignore the protests of a disgruntled Sarada, Sakura tries, again, to ignore how her daughter's wistful eyes stare at the back of Sasuke's head—it was as if she had meant to stare at Sasuke's eyes of obsidian and scarlet, as well as the other sole purple eye he possessed. Greed wasn't a good thing.

With sagging pursed lips, her eyes study the sentence they glaze over in her book: _'Stress isn't good for the heart, nor body. Do take care of yourself.'_

.

.

**( ii. _father's side_ )**

Sasuke sometimes could feel two kinds of stares aimed at him; one was full of yearning, as opposed to a sympathetic pair. Despite it all, he never really voices his thoughts on the matter. One arm short, his free one places his newspaper on the table, immediately flipping to the next page before he takes it up again—perhaps, as a vain attempt to shield his face with as much casualness as he could.

He fights back a vexed grunt. Sarada was simply just not ready to hear the story of how he had come to obtain his Sharingan and the requirements to obtain one. He doesn't want Sarada to fall under emotional trauma like he did—she doesn't deserve that. His heart is still mending ever so slowly from those moments; he'd remembered anguish, agony, despair. Being born into the world with wide happy eyes, bell-like giggles, and practically everything he had lost, Sarada never deserved what he did.

He's just trying to protect her, really. And, he'll admit that it's starting to grow out of his hand that she just couldn't accept whatever he gave her for an answer—she wanted _more_ , but he just _couldn't_ do that. It's too difficult to explain himself without spilling everything. She's looking forward to it when it does, but he will persist to prevent it from such. 

It's not her time. It was never her time to know. 

Toying with the thought of telling her when she's far much wiser, much older, he thinks that maybe—just a maybe—that it could be doable. Maybe this silly need for power ( _he has to scoff, particularly at himself, at the sheer irony_ ) of hers would be gone by then.

So, Sasuke resorts to changing the subject should she ever mention the Sharingan, and he says nothing if she gushes about how she praises it. _She would stop eventually_ , he believes, and had told Sakura at one point. ( _Sakura had laughed, but he heard no humor before she escaped to the hospital that day._ ) Sarada had stepped out earlier today, mindlessly raving on about practice and how Boruto would lose some screws in his head if he ever knew that Konohamaru-sensei chose her to lead today's mission. ( _Sasuke scoffed another time at that._ )

She hadn't brought it up today, about the mishap and argument they had. Occasional comments come up, out of habit than deliberate, but one thing Sasuke found strange was how Sarada almost never mentions the Rinnegan; her only attention remains on his family's kekkei genkai.

He couldn't narrow it down to it being out of interest or if she simply didn't care for the other kekkei genkai, but he slides into a third option with hope—she wants to respect the bloodline of _their_ clan, to use it with pride that a Uchiha would normally have.

.

.

**( iii. _daughter's side_ )**

No matter what she did, to her disappointment, her Papa did not budge. She wants to feel powerful; strong enough to be feared, the longing for the strength to be able defeat foes single-handedly.  _Was that so wrong to wish for?_

Uchiha Sarada does not like feeling dependent. She does not want her father casting discreet glares at anyone who dares to muster the gall to even hurt her. She does not like the feeling where she feels completely useless simply due to her lack of strength, even though having brains was important too for a ninja.

She wants to possess her family's mighty kekkei genkai because she believes it'll give her what she wants: power.

However, she also decides to train; train herself hard enough to the point where she'll have to crawl from tiredness.  _Hard work leads to success and practice makes perfect, Sarada_ , Sakura would tell her. Trusting the woman she trusts with everything she has, Sarada decides to try her method. Not just for Sakura's happiness, but also for Sasuke's approval—he never did like taking shortcuts, he had once confessed. He worked to have everything he had now; Mama's love was one of them, and she would always ponder how in the world her Mama kept so much loyalty to him for so long. Surely, it's because Sakura saw something in him that she grew to love. 

It's not something she lets others know a lot, but Sarada always wondered about it.

_'You're not ready yet.'_

Her heart had thumped, a challenge had been born that day in her eyes. Sasuke didn't approve of her trying to forcibly unlock the Sharingan, ever. He would scold, admonish, chastise her and she'd plead, argue, fight back. Maybe, if she could work even harder, harder than her work right now, then maybe he'd find her more worthy. She just has to know about it—how could he not inform her on their _own_ bloodline's secrets? She deserves to know.

So, Sarada got to work. She'd fight, she'd bruise, she'd tire out quickly; she reminds herself each time that she's doing it for Papa's worthiness. Soon, he'll tell her.

When two weeks passed—and the steady shift of seasons and weather making way for change—Sarada never felt so much adrenaline rush in her veins before. This is more adrenaline she acquired than from Konohamaru-sensei's rigorous waterfall training of running to and fro on the surface for almost an hour straight, than when she and the rest of her class came back to Konoha from their class trip to Ame after rescuing their captured classmates. Sasuke was stricken with silent awe to find his daughter standing in front of a completely demolished boulder. She hopes he saw how her chakra spiked to abnormal levels for a moment before her hand made contact. She worked so hard for it, just to do that—sheer effort went into these long fourteen days, and it showed. It hadn't been an occurring thought to her that working hard would lead to so much satisfaction, so much pride bubbling in her quickening heartbeats.

Is this what he meant by _no cutting corners_? No shortcuts? To let her know that working hard is much more _worthwhile_? Is that why Mama always told her that _practice makes perfect_?

Sarada just stands there, panting as she tries to calm her breathing, mind boggling with wild thoughts that she couldn't really pace slowly around. "Papa." Sasuke looks at her, and she gives him an exhausted grin to proclaim, "I think I've mastered Chidori."

He says nothing. Disappointment fills her stomach uneasily—and then, he smiles. Not a smirk like when he'd listen to Uncle Naruto's ramblings and he would slip in a sarcastic remark, but smile. "You did good. Go home and rest."

She didn't know why, but her jaw hurts and not even the grime on her skin could stop her eyes from crinkling as she walks the path home. Her chest feels much lighter, much happier. She wouldn't mind trying hard again, and maybe she can make do without the Sharingan for now.


	16. reflect

 

**16. reflect**

.

.

As a young child and teenager, Uchiha Sasuke lived a very vacant, gloomy life; he felt nothing else as the power-hungry feeling bloomed inside him and continued to spread in the form a cursed seal at the area between his neck and shoulder. He was easily peeved if things interrupted his path to power; he'd be filled with only anger as his key emotion. He shuts everything away—from his memories to people—behind his iron walls, refusing to let himself escape.

Because they didn't matter to him; nothing mattered to him as long as they weren't any help to him and his journey to strength.

However, Team 7 finally came along and slowly, they began to fill up patches in his heart.

.

.

Naruto, a boy who experienced his shares of loneliness, brought enough warmth to melt away the ice cube Sasuke was.

He was always dumb, sporting big foolish grins, always prattling about how he'll become Hokage. People scoff at him, yet Sasuke noticed that, despite how utterly dumb Naruto was, that idiot never gave up.

He taught Sasuke how to believe in his own achievements, his own power, his own dreams—to cherish those who came to love him for who he is. He taught Sasuke to appreciate those lame team bonding times where Naruto basically shoves a bowl of Ichiraku ramen under his nose and demands Sasuke to eat it, soup and all. He taught Sasuke how to work in a team, even if Sasuke had to put up with his stupidity ( _"Hey, Sasuke... I need to pee."_ ) a constant twenty-four seven on his watch. He taught Sasuke what friendship meant—and it is funny and ironic, because Sasuke lost track of when, specifically, did Naruto became his _best_ friend. 

Sasuke is fast while Naruto is strong. Sasuke is a genius while Naruto is a fool. Sasuke is quiet while Naruto is loud. Sasuke is alone while Naruto is surrounded. Sasuke frowns while Naruto grins. Sasuke isolated himself while Naruto made friends.

Naruto is his foolishly-loud friend, a brother.

.

.

Kakashi brought Sasuke something they both lost: a father.

Fathers were the last thing Sasuke needed to think about when he was still admitted in the Academy; he found it senseless to think of it anymore. He hated it whenever there was a parent-teacher conference—he'd go by himself, and they would know why. He'd grit his teeth, his fists would clench, his nails would dig into his palms to the point of drawing blood, and he'd glower away at the wall. He'd sometimes hear, whenever he goes out, sons exchanging words with their fathers, and Sasuke would feel something akin to aching settle in. 

He hated seeing fathers.

Then Kakashi comes skirting in with his stupid masks, that dumb book, and his knowledge. 

Sasuke isn't a fool like Naruto—he's aware that Kakashi gave him more attention than he did for Naruto and Sakura. He saw something in Sasuke that he felt could be changed, perhaps. He taught Sasuke his signature Chidori; Kakashi never went easy on him either. Kakashi tried his hardest to make sure Sasuke stuck around—to stay with the team and to trust his teammates, to never abandon them.

Sasuke felt that he failed him, greatly. But not once had Kakashi scorned him ever since Sasuke came back to Konoha—Kakashi believed in him, just like Naruto, just like father. He wondered, briefly, how it would be if Kakashi had met his father. Fugaku would like him, probably. Just a maybe.

.

.

Sakura brought him care and love, something Sasuke had lacked.

Her pretty smiles and lively eyes often brought some semblance of warmth to him—and her whole presence, name included, reminds him of spring. When he met her when Team 7 first assembled, years ago, it felt like he would've frowned his face silly at her lack of tact. She'd put on those stupid dreamy smiles and her face would flush crimson, and he hated it. Fangirls—Sasuke hated them. And Sakura hadn't been any different at that time of his life. He hated her.

As their team came over obstacles, from mission to mission, he had begun to think differently about Sakura. 

She threw her life on the line for him. Sasuke wanted to ask why she'd do that, perhaps wanting to seek for a deeper reason, and he didn't know why but it often slipped his mind on other days. He'd see her there, smiling at him for the umpteenth time and he really didn't know why, but he had taken habit to nodding at her in response. Being in a team together, Sakura had seen him at his worst with each passing season, each passing day, each passing mission.

She looked prettier with short hair, he had decided one day, even when her eye was bruised and her face was caked in grime and dirt that day. 

But her eyes always held some sort of emotion Sasuke couldn't pin down whenever she had looked at him the other passing days—regret, maybe? The more their camaraderie seemed to grow within the team, the more Sasuke felt that he could trust her. He hadn't exactly told her of his family—those were _privy_ to his hurting heart—but on more than one occasion, he'd give her a look and she'd look back, and he can tell she's trying to read him.

Before he knew it, she had confessed on that one day. He often toyed with his thoughts, thinking how it could've been if he had taken her offer to bring her along. He'd think, _idiot_ , and went onward. She wouldn't have survived. And he was right, if his experiences were to be learned from.

It'd been two more years after that. 

Sasuke felt strange whenever he came outside the hideout and his eyes met with the cherry blossoms that had bloomed those passing springs. A petal would fall to him and he'd take it; gives it one look and lets it fall and he wouldn't look back. Her smile wormed its way from his memories to _him_ , and he would need to take a second to cast it off again. How silly of him. He cut ties with her some time ago.

Sometimes Kabuto had relayed information to Orochimaru whenever Sasuke slumbered away, information concerning Sasuke's old team. 

"Haruno Sakura, she made it to Chūnin," Sasuke heard him say once, feigning sleep, and he thinks Kabuto's a fool for speaking so loudly in the other room merely two doors down. "She's training in medical ninjutsu, and quite frankly, she's one of their _best_ , Orochimaru-sama." And the rest became gibberish to Sasuke, his Sharingan flashing dangerously at the walls before sleep had succumbed him at last.

He hadn't expected Sakura to be there when some moronic fool came marching in the hideout seeking for him and even had the gall to bring him back to Konoha— _Sai_ , that clod's name was. His replacement. Sakura looked ready to smash the guy's lifespan out of his body that day and if that surprised Sasuke, it hadn't been obvious. Truth to be told, he was never surprised by it. From Kabuto's information prior, he knew she wouldn't sit and dawdle. But soon after that, Sasuke didn't see her again for a while.

She never really smiled at him, not once, when she confronted him again at the bridge. Her face and scowling lips took away any small lingering bits that gave him a semblance of spring which he _always_ associated her with. She was no longer warm, bright, happy Sakura. Sasuke didn't remember much, but she had tried to take his life at that point—even blasted Kakashi intervened, and the only thing Sasuke _could_ recall was his own hand flexing to make a grab at her throat. He didn't know what to make of that. He never did. He didn't feel like himself—the things that Danzo, Akatsuki, Orochimaru, and Itachi made him go through just seemed too much for his heart. He was tired. He just wanted revenge. He just wanted his family to come back.

During the war, it had never occurred to Sasuke _how_ _much_ Sakura grew. He knew she made progress, that was evident, but when she'd summoned that slug of hers ( _Tsunade's_ ) and elicit enough chakra to heal everyone midst their ranks—even going as far as to _revive_ Naruto—while never once showing signs of weariness, it made him wonder just how strong she is. Though, even so, it would seem that she still wears her heart on her sleeve. 

Strange. She changed, but hadn't _changed_.

He never told her, but he always did felt guilty for leaving her behind that day. Team 7 had been _something_ to him, and it hadn't felt right to leave it all behind. But he wanted power, so Sasuke had to narrow his choices; sacrifices had to be done. He had expected Sakura to drop the whole subject of 'loving him' ( _he always wondered about this too, always drawing up blanks_ ) after that, but she brought it up again and Sasuke felt frustration as to _why_ she wouldn't just give up on him. What's so good about him? What? Why? 

Why?

_Why?_

It was only when he and Naruto brought this war to conclusion did Sasuke realize just how fond he thinks of Sakura. Her grief-stricken tears rolling down her tears coupled with her relieved whimpering reminded him of the Sakura two years ago when she had been gravely clinging to him for dear life after Haku struck him down. She started to look _warm_ again to him—and he welcomed it.

That's when he realized—she's like the spring sunshine to him.

.

.

Sasuke tries to smile—a small one, the corners slightly up, but he's _trying_ —when he sees Sakura cradle the baby in her fatigued embrace, stepping forward to see the baby's sleeping face. He hears gurgles and gurgles and laughing and gurgles. This sound is new to him, and so was her existence. He didn't know he would be here in life; what would Fugaku and Mikoto say?

"It's a girl, Sasuke-kun," Sakura breathes, a weak smile on her countenance dampened with sweat from post-childbirth. "Have you thought of a name yet?" When her arms shift, the baby makes a loud joyous cry, arms stretching out to reach for anything. 

Sasuke sticks his pointer finger into the baby's little hand, and replies, "Sarada." He had placed care into it, chosen it with other things in mind, and hopes she would come to agree too. 

Smiling, Sakura quietly offers Sarada to him and he takes her into his one arm. Sarada doesn't mind, finding it entertaining to play with his cloak. "Sarada it is. It's a beautiful name for her." She slowly closes her eyes; Sasuke could tell she went to sleep and he, understandably, walks to the corridor outside the room, preferably to find Karin after she'd ran out to clean herself of blood after helping Sakura give birth. Karin is a girl, so maybe she could help him take care of Sarada.

When he looks down, Sarada gives him a big toothless smile. His heart felt much warmer, lighter. 

Sarada filled up the last gash in Sasuke's heart.


	17. family

 

**17\. family**

.

.

_What does family mean to you?_

Sarada stares rigidly at the question that sits on top of her assignment paper. She grips her pencil and diligently puts down the words that swarms her mind. Her heart felt achy from reading it the first time—talking about family wasn't something she liked to do, especially when her Papa was practically non-existent for the past decade of her whole life. Had it not been for Sakura and her tight loving hugs and everlasting kindness, Sarada would never know how to answer this question. It would've been a half-hearted attempt, but half-hearted was better than an empty paper. And Shino-sensei appreciated effort above none given.

" _To me, family is something that consists of people who will care for me."_

She exhales deeply, unable to stop her arm from marking her paper with words from the heart. Not because she wanted an excellent grade for it, but because of  _family—_ that one word Sarada seemed to treasure and value often. 

The clock ticks nine o'clock, and Sarada never noticed it. 

" _Family is what my mother, my father, and I make up. Family is what treats me with love as I grow older. Family is also about loving each other until the day you die. A family is created when I'm born from the love shared by my mother and father. Having a family is what motivates me to sit through a day in school, because I know that my family will greet me with smiles when I step through the door."_

When she hears footsteps gradually sounding louder, Sarada sets down her pencil as Sasuke pokes his head in her room.

"Sarada," he speaks up a quiet moment after she places a paper weight on her assignment. "It's time for dinner." 

"Okay, Papa!" She looks happy; Sasuke wonders about the cause before the effect.

He steps aside for her to walk past, yet he doesn't follow her nor did she stop to turn and question him. By the time he hears her thumping feet in the living room, Sasuke raises the paper weight and he sees her neat writing. Curiosity kills the cat, so they say. Perhaps, he thinks, she had gotten another good mark on her work—it was no surprise to the household that she is a remarkable child, clever for her age and too reminiscent of Sasuke about his prodigy status.

The word ' _family_ ' was written at the top by Sarada's impeccable handwriting. Sasuke feels himself stop, a vain attempt to stop himself. The subject of family got to him like it does with Sarada—it gave him guilt and regret that his mission had to take so long. It's not too uncommon to know that Sasuke isn't a family man; no one thought he'd settle down—no one thought he'd ever have a family. It never was his thing, his younger self would admit. 

He loves Sakura ( _he still has a hard time coming into terms with admitting it_ ), but he just didn't know how to approach Sarada. Sakura had been there for a long time by his side, she had seen all things good and bad about him. They had time to bond and establish trust, no matter how shaky it had been. Then there's Sarada. He'd missed her whole childhood, hadn't visited home that often to see her once, and he had almost ended her life in accident when they actually met. How shameful. How stupid of him.

He could understand why Sarada would be skittish with him, and he didn't make anything of it. If she hated him, he'd allow it. Sasuke wanted to make it up to her for a while, even going far enough to trust _Kakashi's_ advice ( _which failed miserably, and Sasuke felt killing intent rising in his chest_ ) from a _dumb_ book written by an even _dumber_ man. If he'd learned anything from that experience, it would be that he now understood the extent of how much _'you're annoying'_ can hurt after hearing it. He needs to apologize to Sakura about that, still. He can't tell how he should react to it; it's too terribly ironic.

As Sasuke skimmed past Sarada's paper in a matter of seconds, he had to smile at the small doodle at the bottom corner of the page.

It was Sasuke, Sakura, and Sarada's heads inside a heart—small smiles, and no frowns.

Maybe it's still not too late to make it up to her after all.


	18. mend

 

**18. mend**

.

.

 _Cold._  

Sarada immediately winches from the cold weather, a hand reaching to grab her glasses and slips them on. She gradually rises up and her blanket slips down past her stomach. Her half-closed eyes can barely make out the minuscule droplets of ice dripping innocently across the Uchiha compound rather languidly. Sarada lazily glances to the calendar, taking note of the month it displays in big frosty blue letters.

 _December_. It'd been somewhat hard, nowadays, to ignore winter's signs—the visible puffs of breath whenever people so much make a noise, the frost gathered on greenery, the chills on Sarada's arms whenever she'd step out without a scarf or coat, they were all evident of the upcoming seasonal shift. Of course, autumn this year had been somewhat similar as akin to the coldness, but she'd been more expectant of seeing snow than dry old leaves. 

Sakura sees a shivering Sarada encase herself in blankets—three thin ones, to be exact—and the quivering frown that was trying to wilt deeper as she experienced another shiver. Sakura herself had taken the liberty of wearing her own dark pink—Sasuke argued it was more of a light scarlet color—jacket with fur lining around her hood and collar, to which she was grateful for as it keeps her neck pleasant and warm.

As today was a weekend, a blessing itself, she took a place next to Sarada on the couch in the living room and Sakura wishes that the house had a fireplace for times like today. A shame, really. Sasuke could've even lit it up with his Katon; they could've spent the day together, but of course, duty calls for him and nobody wanted to step outside today because of the snowfall outside, Sakura concludes to herself. Maybe Boruto would be out there somewhere, but whatever it was for, it wasn't for his team—Sarada wouldn't be here otherwise.

Sarada tugs her socks on tighter and sighs into her hands before rubbing them together for heat. She may have been anticipating the snow, but that can't be said for the weather. The phone rings, jostling Sarada as Sakura picks it up. Scrunching her nose a bit distastefully at her slight blunder, the girl can hear mumbles and murmurs from her Mama, a nod here and there. 

"Sarada." She turns to Sakura with much raptness that it makes Sakura almost want to laugh at how similar her daughter truly was to Sasuke. Sakura unravels a blanket she'd settled upon her lap prior, reluctance in her slow pace, the phone tucked back to its holder. "I'm stepping out for a bit. Your Aunt Ino was surprisingly bombarded with a horde of customers today, but I think it's just because they all want flowers before the weather gets even worse."

She didn't complain and she wholeheartedly accepts Sakura's arms gently holding her close. "Okay, Mama, I'll see you home soon then. Tell her and Inojin that I said hi?"

"Will do, kiddo." Sakura flashes Sarada a grin and a thumbs up, and Sarada is immediately reminded of Uncle Naruto and Uncle Lee. No doubt the two became a huge influence on her Mama. "I'm willing to bet Inojin is all curled up like you and complaining at home!" Sakura jokes, approaching her pink sandal-heels by the doorway.

"Mama..." With a shake of her head, Sarada smiles to herself when the door softly shuts.

 

.

.

"Oh?" Sarada looks up from her bowl of sukiyaki and quirks an eyebrow, making Sasuke reminisce how he used to do the same too ( _and he still does_ ). "Your mother's not home yet?"

Silent, she watches him take off his scarf and poncho to hang atop the hangers before she replies with a mundane, "No, she said she had to help out Auntie Ino. Said she's been flooded with a sea of customers lately." The atmosphere became tense, as it had always been whenever it was just her and him together—clearly, what had happened when they first met, Naruto and ChouChou in tow, had still unsettled her a lot and Sasuke knew that. He hadn't gone very far to make it up to her; he didn't even know how to. It had been far from his comfort zone, and no matter what, tension always liked lingering behind.

Dimming only slightly, Sasuke's eyes remains humdrum before he shifts to take the empty chair in front of her, observing how she eats her sukiyaki contently. "...You made that yourself?"

He patiently waits for her to finish her munching before she speaks. Manners are always important, Sasuke had been taught. And despite his attempts to ignore it, he can feel the awkwardness stirring. "Yes, I did." Clipped, curt—sounds a lot just like him.

"Good girl," he tells her after a moment or two, and she liked the way his eyes looked at her. 

Typically, the both of them preferred having Sakura around so the tension wouldn't be too thick—she never knew why it was always like this, but she never fails to light the space with her lovely smiles and affection. It'd been a couple weeks since he had returned from the mission; it had been rarely spoken of ever since. It felt like there was a boundary somewhere there and it was not possible to cross it. But slowly, that gap in her chest is slowly mending.

It feels warm. "Thank you, Papa. There's some leftover in the fridge if you want any."

"Ah."

 


	19. fairy tale

**19\. fairy tale**

.

.

"Tch," comes a scoff from Sarada, adjusting her glasses back in place before her eyes narrow in frustration. "Why do people even like fairy tales? They're so illogical and they bend reality." Sometimes Sakura read her a few when she'd been younger—Sarada could not grasp it; she's too practical and preferred things simple. Why couldn't Cinderella's prince just tell the duke what she looked like so it could narrow their search by hundreds of girls? Didn't Snow White know to not accept food from strangers? Didn't any of them _think_?

"Maybe that's why they're called fairy tales, as in:  _not real_ , Sarada," Boruto pipes in, nonchalant, as he indulges in his lollipop. Mitsuki smiles quietly—typical behavior of him—absorbing the conversation in great detail.

"I still say it's ridiculous," she heckles further, pushing up her glasses back in place as her eyes narrows at the words _'and they lived happily ever after.'_ She has half a mind to toss the book aside, but if she did, Himawari would cry ( _it is her book, Hinata's kept it around since the girls' early childhood and Himawari loved it ever since_ ) and Sarada never liked it when she cried. If she had known today would result in a salty rant of non-existent things, she would've gladly refused the offering of the book when Himawari suggested light reading to spend this lovely Saturday afternoon. Lovely can't be used to describe it anymore.

"Please, indulge me with your thoughts about this apparent issue troubling you, Sarada." Curiously, Mitsuki smiles and smiles at her, awaiting to hear an explanation that he can ponder about later. Never hearing fairy tales, not once as a past time or once just for fun, it'd been a new branch of topic for him to perch on. He'd believed it was merely trivial, old stories or maybe legends, but if his teammate had such strong opinions about it, he'd like to hear them to further open his perspective concerning it.

"How does Sleeping Beauty wake up from a ' _true love's kiss_ ' just like that? How does one even know if that it really is a true love's kiss?" She's missing something, right? No, she's definitely sure; there's got to be some explanation for it, some kind of magic, perhaps. If people believed in it, then maybe it could be justified—

"Sarada," Boruto injects from his seat next to her, drawling. "Maybe the author was high when they wrote it?" Once again, Sarada thinks, this boy has and will never have _any_ sort of tact at all and that will be his undoing.

Himawari groans at her sibling's choice of words and sentences before punching his arm. "Maybe it's just destiny? I mean, have you ever had that feeling where it just feels so right, yet you can't explain how it does?"

Sarada's eyes travels to Himawari. "I still don't see how kissing with a stranger you've danced with only once in the forest can lead to finding your 'true love.' Especially when you've been sleeping from a curse an enchantress had placed upon you from anger that stemmed from her not being invited to the gala celebrating the princess' birth."

One blink, two blinks—Himawari looks frazzled, confused, incredulous, all the synonyms. Boruto joins his sister in blinking, popping that lemon lollipop of his occasionally.

"Let's just say this: it's only a fairy tale, Sarada," Boruto eventually succumbs to proper speech and all, a sign of the apocalypse nearing maybe. "It's not real; it's not meant to be. Therefore, the author is free to bend reality within their story however they want."

Sarada feels her nose scrunch in trifling distaste, "Fine, but I still can't grasp why every fairy tale needs to end with a happy ending. Why can't we have a tragic ending for once? I think it'd really spice up the story." Not everything ends happily with _sunflowers_ and _rainbows_ and _birds chirping_ and _weddings_ and— That's not how it is to be human and have feelings. No one can expect everything to be happy. 

Boruto snickers at the long sigh Himawari lets out. The girl will probably tear her hair out by the end of today, before suppertime, and Hinata would scream her lungs silly at a bald daughter and Naruto would agonize for the next decade or so. Boruto would like to see that and jokingly roots for Sarada to keep it up.

.

.

"I'll admit," Boruto hears Sarada say to his sister, "I prefer the story of _Beauty and the Beast_ the most." He prevents himself from making a face at her across the table. He forgot they were in a library; the old-lady librarian would have his head for making ruckuses.

"Yeah!" Himawari approves, exultant. "I love the theme it has! It's not about what's on the outside, it's about what's on the inside. I just love watching how Belle and Beast's relationship improved overtime, it's so cuuuute!"

Boruto has a hard time believing it—twenty minutes ago, Sarada had been driven ( _by salt and sourness_ ) to argue about fairy tales and now, she's laughing with Himawari over _Beauty and the Beast_. This fairy tale deserves an obligatory salute, and he's eternally grateful none of it involved him because he'd be damned if it did.

"Onii-chan, you saw the movie with me, right? Who's your favorite character?"

_Ah, crud._

.

.

 

It's unlike Sasuke to hide on most days—he'd lurk in shadows, but that's for his missions and he certainly isn't on any mission right now. 

He'd come to collect Sarada, sent by Sakura, and he had a hunch she merely wanted him to spend more time with their daughter as evident of her twinkling eyes and upward smile he knew he could never refused. Sarada seemed to be deep in conversation with her friends; Sasuke opted to wait until she was done and it didn't seem like she'd be finished anytime soon. The sun is out, yet to have fallen below horizon and signal the sky to turn orange like the orange of Naruto's rugged old suit years ago. He'd let her have her time and then he'd come for an appearance. The library would close soon anyways.

"I like Cogsworth. He's always keeping it real whenever he comes up." Sasuke never understood Boruto's lingo, never had once.

Himawari is next to speak. "Really? I like Mrs. Potts! She reminds me of Mama—super nice and caring!"

He's silent behind the bookcase, listening and listening. He personally didn't have any favorites; to be frank, fairy tales weren't his thing, and he never really indulged in it. Maybe Sakura had favorites instead. 

"What about you Sarada?"

"Hm..." Sasuke hears her says, almost mumbling to herself. "Maybe Belle. Like you, she reminds me of my Mama. They're both smart." He could agree with her, easily. "And I guess also because I can see my Papa in Beast. They're both unapproachable at first, but when time passes, it's likely the opposite. Belle and Beast remind me of both my parents," Sarada says in a concluding note, and Sasuke felt something strange in his chest. It had some semblance to the feeling he had whenever his brother complimented him back then, or whenever Mikoto smiled at him and Fugaku went to praise him.

Some time passed—Sasuke found some entertainment in idly hearing Boruto go on about Cogsworth and then shifts to remarking about the funny scenes he could remember from the movie before the boy was pelted by Himawari's eraser and he asks Mitsuki to cover for him as he ducks underneath the table. When the librarian stomps her heels over, drags him out by the ear, ruler in hand, Sasuke decides this is the perfect time to step out.

"Sarada."

He sees bits of Sakura in her eyes. "Papa? Why are you here?"

"Sakura's starting on dinner."

She's quick to react and tells her two remaining friends a goodbye before she tucks her notebooks underneath her arm, thanks Himawari for her fairy tale book, and trudges after him out the building. Sasuke notices how taken aback she looks. "I didn't know I was in there for so long. Good thing you came by, Papa."

He'd been there for a while, actually. "Ah, it's nothing. You know how your mother wants us back in time for supper." He sounds dull, typical Sasuke behavior, leaving no hint that he'd been listening to her conversation prior.

"Better not keep her waiting then!" 


	20. height

**20\. heights**

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.

 

It's no wonder that Uchiha Sasuke is a tall man—he'd always been tall.

He'd been taller than his classmates, a contributing factor that he often smirked at whenever a young bratty Naruto tears him apart with his glare whenever the two stood side-by-side whenever they met up as a team. He'd often tower over Karin while Suigetsu was roughly his height, and obviously, he needn't to say anything about their last teammate. The only person he could fondly remember who'd tower him all the time had been his brother; Itachi was the well-rounded perfect man, the only one Sasuke could accept to best him. When Itachi went away, never came back once and left Sasuke's poor boyish eyes scarred with visages of bloodshed and corpses, Sasuke felt the utter need to grow _taller_.

He wanted to tower over people. He wanted to be like Itachi and be tall. He wanted to show that he can hold his head high while walking with pride, proud of himself and his clan—he wanted people to see that this man ( _this boy_ ) can be tall and strong like Itachi.

And if there's anyone he'd particularly enjoyed towering, it'd been Sakura.

Sasuke stood over her years ago, from childhood till adulthood, and it'd always been the top of her head meeting near his nose but now seems that her body limited her head meeting at the tip of his chin. He'd stare down at her; cranes his neck and he'd feel a knot forming when it'd start to hurt, but he would brush it aside and meet her eyes another time, then another and another. He liked her eyes—they embody the spirit of spring and often makes him feel at peace. 

Whenever she embraced him, arms encircled around his waist and her head rests on his chest, he liked to crane his neck and press a side of his face unto her hair. It's the most natural feeling to him, and sometimes a wish would creep up and tell him to _stay like that a second longer, don't let go just yet—it feels so right._ And he isn't sure if it's just some sort of karma or some pitiful attempt from fate, but Sakura would tell him that he needs to get going for whatever else Naruto could assign him.

He'd sigh and go, just like what his wife wants, but Sasuke had always decided on one thing: he's glad to be tall.

 

.

.

 

Haruno Sakura is a short girl, and it had always been that way.

Ino, with sneers and jeers, sometimes remarked it in passing as a form of jest—Sakura, the timid bud underneath spring's embrace, and Ino, the stunning iris in full bloom under the summer's sky. It'd been that way for some time; it struck Sakura in the nerves time and time again.

"You need to calm _down_ and loosen _up_ , Sa-ku-ra!" sings Ino, waving a spoon at her best friend, the same spoon she'd been using for her parfait. "So what if some of the patients called you short? They're just kids, little mischief-givers. Inojin was like that when he was a little boy."

Utterly faithful to her anmitsu, Sakura chews and arches an eyebrow. "It's a bit degrading when you have _all_ of them call you that, and they only reach your waist." There were, probably, ten kids—ages between seven, eight, and nine—in the children's ward and Sakura found herself victim to most remarks if they were feeling partially merciless on a bad day. They are good children; they just have too much energy that couldn't be contained in one room and Sakura had a urge to interrogate the nurse who'd bought the kid toys for that ward because they certainly didn't do wonders for them.

"Just ignore them. Kids love attention, and you're involuntarily giving them that if you let it get to you, y'know." Ino, ever the _helpful_ friend she is, nips at a plump strawberry decorating her parfait. "You're lucky that Sarada wasn't like that when she was younger. Inojin was sometimes a monster for me to handle by myself at the shop—thank goodness my husband always come back early to help or I'd be pretty tired."

Yes, good thing indeed that Sarada was raised with _manners_ and turned out to not be like those rugrats. "I guess I could try that," she concedes at last, defeated. "It's not just the kids, though," she speaks up after five seconds, disgruntled. "Passing men outside, I hear it often." Sakura puffs and huffs like a wolf on the hunt for pigs. "It's not my fault that women are biologically shorter than men. It's simple biology, and yet, the blame is on me. Like—" She looks at Ino, eyes determining something. "—we're the same height, right?"

"Yes, we are." Eyes rolling, Ino is somewhat amused. "I think TenTen and Hinata are the same too, but maybe TenTen has a few extra millimeters above us. Temari-san definitely is taller than us by a bit last time we saw her."

"Okay, so maybe _some_ women can be tall, but it's unfair how I'm being picked on for it." 

Ino smiles, devilish. "You're special, Sakura." _That's what you get for being a prominent war hero and starting clinics, being selfless and all-too-loving._ It garnered Sakura extra attention, to which Ino would enviously comment about, but she reminds herself that she's happily married to a sweet ( _hot_ ) man with an adorable son, so Ino settles with continuing her parfait with the same grin that ticked off her best friend.

 _Cheeky pig._ "I don't like it."

.

.

 

"Mama, what was that?" Sarada looks up from her spot near the door, herself seated and her body hunching so she could strap on her sandals for training in the fields till the afternoon. 

Sakura comes out of the kitchen, a sheepish smile evident. "I just accidentally dropped a cup—don't worry, it's plastic." She lifts up her hand, fingers clutching onto a thin pink cup still stained with tea she'd sipped to the last drop. "Get to practice before Boruto shows up and drags you off himself!" 

She'd argue that, but Sarada knows Boruto would absolutely do that if he felt that she took too long and he'd come with Mitsuki and Mitsuki would side with him against her. "I'll try to be back before dinner." 

Left to her own for today until she readies herself for the hospital shift, Sakura sighs wearily to herself and sets the cup in the sink. Her eyes notice the color fading on several parts of the cup—probably, she scrubbed too hard whenever she went to clean it. Deciding it was best to stash it away for now, she'd reach to open a cabinet door above her and she grumbles when she sees that she needed to tiptoe to reach in as if that conversation with Ino hadn't haunted her for a while despite it happening just yesterday.

After rifling through some other drawers to spy for old wares no longer able to be used, Sakura decides to set those in the cupboard too with the cup—she'd have to see to disposing later when she picks up recycled boxes to pack them in. There is a stack of old dirty plates on the counter. Sakura stares and doesn't attempt to stuff it in the cupboard with the rest because she's not tall enough for it and to even _try_ would result in hundreds of dish remains at her feet and she surely didn't want to step inside a hospital with bloodied feet—she'd be damned.

A hand reaches to grab a plate off the top, stealing her attention. Sakura could've gasped, but bit it back. It's also his home and she didn't need to faint and stare all starry-eyed whenever he did fancy a visit home.

Sasuke says nothing as he easily places dish by dish in the accursed cupboard, never needing to tiptoe. Sakura grumbles once more to herself at the inconvenience she'd presented herself, but shakes it off. 

The lack of Sarada's presence makes Sakura embrace him and she does the usual routine Sasuke memorized—head on his chest and hands at his back, eyes closed, smile. And according to the routine, Sasuke lets her hug away and it feels so _right_.

Sakura smiles and smiles away until she eventually relinquishes her arms and smiles at him _again_ before she makes haste for her shift. 

Sometimes being short is good.


	21. child

**21\. child**

.

.

 

Sakura gingerly pokes the baby's tummy, earning giggles and gurgles for a response. They sound cheery, chiming like bells, a sound she'd yet to hear from the past few months she had spent journeying with Sasuke on the road. "She's full of energy today," comes a light comment from her, tone conversational and welcoming. It'd been two days of post-childbirth rest for her, stuck in a dingy old bed of Karin's in a spare room of her hideout—it'd been plentiful in boredom, yet Sakura didn't verbally voice that aloud as to not disrespect all the kindness Karin had showed them two days prior. 

On the first day, her body was ailed with extreme aches and her eyes were always somehow half-lidded in exhaustion. Sakura had admittedly never been assigned in operations that dealt with childbirth in the hospital; it was mainly surgical for her or it was deep medicinal examinations. Not childbirth. She'd only read about them in the endless amount of medical books she owned. Heavy strain to the body was expected, and _dear lords_ , it's hell. By the time the second day rolled around, the aches had been remarkably better and she suspected it was from the extra five hours of sleep she'd gotten.

Sasuke had been with her the whole time, practically glued to a chair, yet he'd remain wordless. Other times, he'd step out; he'd go out to seek for Karin about something or he'd go outside to retrieve some fresh air. Sakura never thought to ask him about it; she respected that he needed space—some space to let the reality of having a child together, a family, settle in his head. She's okay with it, because Sakura knew that he'd be there when she wakes up. Like right now.

"She always does," he responds to her with, tone placid as ever, but Sakura can see the corner of his lips curl upward for a moment. "She got it from you." 

It's a fact, not an opinion—between the two of them, it'd always been her that beamed at him, showered him with excitement and love. If their child inherited something similar, most likely Sakura is the source. She giggles. "Well, she has _your_ hair and eyes."

From her lap, a bundled Sarada coos. Sitting up on her bed, Sakura tries her best to blow a raspberry to enlighten the little girl, puffing her cheeks and sticking out her tongue as if she was years younger. Beside Sarada's laughter, it was quiet. Karin had been doing checkups in the other rooms of the lair and was overall mindful to not disturb the Uchiha family acquainting with their newest addition, then she holed herself up in one of the labs conducting samples and research from something she'd found particularly exciting enough to steal her attention the rest of the day. Sasuke was still quiet, as ever, but he sometimes indulged her when Sakura talks to him and guiltily enough, she enjoyed the attention.

Sasuke takes a moment to assess their baby with a brief look, humbly. "Her eyes shaped after yours." A good blend of both of their eyes, he thinks. When Sarada grows up, he'd no doubt that she would resemble his wife more in terms of appearance; they even have the same smile. Maybe her hair would bear Sakura's styled bangs too, swept to the side. 

"She shares a lot of _our_ traits," Sakura amends, amused. Maybe if she said that their baby has his smirk, he'd somehow say it in a way that it meant  _her_ smirk. Rarely does she ever smirk; she enjoyed smiling more. Even Ino had said at some point that she had a nice smile. "She'll be so pretty in a couple of years," murmurs Sakura idly, tickling the baby's tummy again with a finger. "Someday, Uchiha Sarada will be the talk of her class. Has a nice ring to it!" 

Sarada will someday be admitted into the Academy and in there, she'll be trained to be a shinobi and protect her loved ones and excel in subjects that displayed her smarts. She'd grow up a young girl full of smiles like Sakura and she'll be a little bundle of sunshine in the house—she'll be so happy. She can tell Sasuke is still accommodating to the idea of a family together, but she can tell he's trying and that's really all she could ask for. He'll be happy too. 

"She already is that right now," he eventually says, his eye focused on the way how Sarada beams a toothless grin as him. 

Sarada is their new beginning.


	22. connection

**22. connection**

.

.

 

Sakura didn't know how it happened, but it did. Her awkward footfalls could not seem to match the skips ChouChou gave or the quick pace of Sarada. ChouChou entertained herself with a conversation of the latest barbecue chips released on the shelves just three days ago. "Yours truly was the first in line and what did they give me?" ChouChou had been rambling on about, her hands stuffing her usual favorite chips into her mouth, yet her eyes seem to flare in indignation as she recalled her story. "Barbecue chips! BBQ! _BBQ_ , Sarada!" Sakura watches from behind how the girl huffs, ChouChou's shoulders rising up briefly. "It wasn't even all that good! Like, every store here practically has the same thing! Don't they know that a beauty like me needs to experience _different_ flavors?"

Sarada could've awkwardly shifted had she not been walking already. Sakura hardly knew her daughter's friend too much, but she could tell that if ChouChou was anything like her father, it wasn't wise to point out that the girl snacked on the same chips everyday. "I'm sure they were trying their best to come up with flavors..." 

Eventually, the one-sided conversation falls deaf on Sakura as she nips at her stick of dango, courtesy of the restaurant staff earlier providing free samples, as she plays chaperone. Having been following the girls over half an hour on their excursion, she felt that it isn't her place to interrupt or intrude—after all, Sarada seldom hung out with friends outside of missions. Despite being left awkward and foreign, her eyes always facing their backs like some sort of bodyguard, Sakura wholeheartedly supports her daughter and her friendships. She remembered she might've bumped into ChouChou once; it'd been when Sakura had accompanied Sarada on her first day at the Academy. Even back then, Chouji's daughter possessed a strong love of food, often snacking on whatever she could find. Karui sometimes bumped into her too when they came to pick up their daughters; it'd be awkward some more and if there were words exchanged, they'd be clipped and short.

Idly glancing around, Sakura nearly bumps into the girls as ChouChou extends a finger out, curiosity in her starry eyes. "Ooh, let's check out that place!" The pink canopy above the cozy little gift store had caught her attention as well; Sakura tilts her head to indulge the girl as Sarada turns to regard the place with a look. "I've always wanted to see if they have anything cute there, but I keep forgetting. Please, Sarada!" 

"Fine," Sarada finally says, a weak smile on her face. "I've never been in it too, so I guess we can both benefit from it, right, Mama?" Unforgotten, Sarada beams at her mother and ChouChou then gives _Sakura_ the same puppy dog eyes. 

The sight of ChouChou's excited hands clutching at her chips bag left Sakura unable to object. Not that she was ever going to object in the first place—Sakura herself didn't know such a place was around. Maybe it's a new store. "We have the whole day to ourselves, so it won't hurt to go in for a bit." A smile comes up on her lips the moment ChouChou gives a little cheer and practically tugs Sarada by the arm. 

The place looks cute, Sakura thinks as she trails behind them, her eyes of lovely green studying the cozy lighting and various shelves and cases full of objects teenagers would like. Her teenage years lost on her, Sakura didn't think she should be the one being fascinated over tiny trinkets like charms that can be tied to a phone for decoration or bunny-decorated bento boxes. With ChouChou raving on about how she would love to get a new set of cute forks and spoons for herself, Sarada occupied herself with checking out the notebooks and pens they had nearby. The clerk, a young woman with a perky smile and a brown ponytail, had told Sakura in passing that this was a place targeted for young girls—apparently the sheer number of weapon shops in the village had been the last straw for the clerk-slash-owner, who said that all young growing girls should deserve some nice things before they grow up to become shinobi and have less time to be themselves.

Sakura half-heartedly agreed; the hospital did chalk up a lot of time to be at, but at least most of her weekends were free and they'd be spent at home. When she was younger, Sakura didn't have 'cute' things—she had _Sasuke-kun_ to daydream about. That itself took up a majority of her life, and Sakura finds it so ironic whenever she'd shake her head at some passing love-struck girl on the streets raving on about boys. And speaking of Sasuke, Sakura absently stares at the phone charms offered on a wire board at the other end of the small shop—there is a tomato charm, simply tiny and hanging from a strap, and there is only one thing, one _person_ , she thinks about when she sees it.

Midst ChouChou's incessant eager comments and Sarada's neutral responses, Sakura gives a hum.

.

.

"What's this?" he asks her one day when he'd actually bothered to come back and the first thing she did was thrust a little gift box at him. His fingers hold it, but he doesn't give it a shake. "You didn't have to." It's not his birthday nor was it any sort of special occasion he knew of; but, it must've been something important if she had the time to welcome him back with a gift. 

"I think you'll like it," Sakura tells him simply, a smile caressing her lips and her eyes crinkling. She'd spent probably ten minutes staring at the thing before Sarada had to come and retrieve her—even the owner had noticed the amount of time she'd spent looking and, amused, offered a small discount for it. It was already cheap to begin, but with the discount, it practically costed little to none for her doctor's salary. "Here, let me open it for you."

Sasuke, piqued, allows her to lift up the lid. He wanted to assured her that he could've done it himself, but then he remembers—his arm. "Ah." He ends up looking at a small round thing; there's a string above it. It'd been too small to be anything but a mere accessory, that much he could ascertain on his own. It lacked everything to be anything else, and with this in mind, he has to ponder why she bothered to get this for him when she knows accessories weren't his thing. However, if she did knew that, then he figured she must've had a reason for getting it—getting it for _him_. 

"It's for your phone!" Sakura goes to exclaim, herself perking at his mildly stunned look. The charm in one hand, she gently snatches the gift box from his palm and sets it on the dining table and then she makes a gesture for his phone. In a few seconds, Sasuke didn't know why but now, his phone had a small tomato hanging from it. "See? It's a phone charm. Apparently, they're a new trend."

He didn't seem to have the heart to tell her that it would probably get in the way if he's out on a mission—what if it got snagged on something? What if it fell loose somewhere? This one charm could be the catalyst for several unfortunate upbringings and he didn't want that. But the more he notices how she gave him that smile he usually liked on her, how her hands shyly bundle behind her back, the more he couldn't find it in himself to tell her that it was a waste of time. _It wasn't_. Rarely does she give him gifts anymore. Back when they were still young, he'd often grumble in displeasure how she always gave him onigiri, chocolates, cards, letters—they were all the wrong kind of things that contented him. Those onigiri were the wrong flavor, the chocolates were sweet and not bitter, the cards had too many hearts and flowers, and he had never bothered to read the letters but he was confident that they were on new levels of sappy mush that garnered it to be trash. So when she gave him a simple little thing that was supposedly his favorite fruit, he had to stop, blink, and think. It's a charm this time. Not wrongly-flavored onigiri and chocolates, not cheesy cards and letters. Just a charm.

"...It gives it some color," he ends up telling her, lifting up his phone experimentally to see the red thing ( _tomato, he reminds himself_ ) dangle from its point, languid. The red makes the black color of his phone stand out; he didn't know what to make of that, whether it was good or bad. He nods at her in gratitude, which she seemed to return with happy eyes. That was probably the best thing he could ever say to her at the moment and it sounded dumb, but at least she's happy about it.

Sakura beams at him again, and he thought she looked several years younger again. "I got one too!" Hastily, her phone is snatched at from the table ( _Sasuke had to blink again because he didn't see that when he came in_ ) and she reveals it to him, dangling a little pink flower charm. "Now it'll be like we're connected even more! Sarada didn't want to at first, but she ended up getting one too!"

Matching phone charms—the idea seemed silly to Sasuke, but like the other two instances since he came home tonight, he didn't have it in him to tell her. 

Maybe for her, he'll deal with it. It didn't seem that bad.

 


	23. cloak

**23. cloak**

.

.

 

Sakura stares at the sea of gray bundled on her lap, sewing needle in one hand as the other fingers the material for the designated tear she had been meaning to fix. It wasn't too often that Sasuke's cloak received a tear or two when he came back; he is a careful man, usually cautious and perceptive. So when he came home yesterday with a rather large tear on the side of his cloak, Sakura was more than willing to mend it for him the next day and he lets her. Growing up, Sasuke had a general grasp of sewing as he was left to take care of himself, but with an arm short, he could not properly insert the needle to where it should go—enlisting Sakura's help is a good decision, he knew, as an ultimatum. 

He had not expected the hole to be so big. It'd been during his time away from the village—he'd been on the low end, sleuthing for information, the normal routine for him. It just so happens that his name is somewhat notorious among fellow shinobi, friend or foe, and many have tried to allied themselves together to bring him down, hunt his head for a plentiful bounty no doubt. He had to scoff; the bounty was removed a long time ago on Naruto's firm orders. While Sasuke had felt some semblance of gratitude for his actions, it didn't not meant several bloodthirsty rouges couldn't continue to hunt him down. Uchiha Sasuke made many enemies, some deliberate and others unintentionally. He cannot reverse time to fix what had been done, but he'd some hope that his atonement could quell some people's fears. Konoha was mainly cautious, hostile for the first month of his return, and then it started to turn back to normal—not many gave him glances anymore, but he suspected that had something to do with his involvement with Sakura.

 _If a girl like Sakura loved him, then there must be some good in this man._ He'd heard it before on the road, midst his own village.

But of course, even with Sakura's kind soul dispersing most of those nasty rumors about him, there lurked people who still liked to give him animosity-filled glares. And one of them had been the cause to this particularly large tear in his cloak: he'd had been on the way back to Konoha, but then some oaf lunged at him and the struggle ended with Sasuke nonchalantly continuing his way as the oaf discovered how dirt tasted like, but the sneak attack of a rather sharp katana found its way thrashing through his cloak before Sasuke could leap. 

"How did it even get this way?" Sakura had asked him idly, the needle going in and out of the fabric. He needed a moment to think about that.

Sasuke patiently sips at the tea she'd provided earlier. "An ambush," he settles with saying, his back resting against the couch and he missed it when it was just him and her at home. Sarada had to see to another mission with her team. "I've dealt with him quickly, but I might've underestimated his speed." Of course, Sasuke is tenfold faster, but the ambush was still well-timed. 

Furrowing her eyebrows, she gives the edges of the hole a careful look. "It doesn't look like a kunai cut this."

"He had a katana." His attacker seemed almost _clumsy_ with it, not at all graceful and poised like the samurai he'd read about in old historical books—that man was a fool to be a bigger fool. 

Sakura gazes at him, as if she knew he wasn't telling her _more_. By now, she knew him enough to know that he trusted her; he trusted her with many things he'd always categorized  to be meant for himself.

The newspaper on his lap didn't seem so interesting anymore ( _not that it ever was—Naruto should stop being on the front pages so much_ ) as he reclines further back. "He said that a monster always stay a monster."

He knew those were merely words of spite, but those words also somehow hit too close to home for him. It'd been something he was constantly struggling with; only Sakura seemed to know how much personal strife he'd been through because of it. It made him question his own identity. Was he Uchiha Sasuke the monster, or Uchiha Sasuke the atoned shinobi of Konoha? He didn't like how bitter it made him feel—he thought it was over when he'd announced his plan of atonement and he thought it'd be okay when Sakura smiled at him and Kakashi stood behind her looking like how Fugaku did that day when he perfected Katon. But when Sasuke had been out on the road, passing by villages for some occasional rest, he realized that it _wasn't_ over yet. Konoha had somehow forgiven him and he believed that would mark an end to his story, but he'd forgotten about the people beyond Konoha's gates. Those people mainly ignored him, but like the other instances of him out on the road, some didn't like him and they did everything to make it obvious.

Sakura's fingers stop handling the needle for a second, finding it hard to say anything back to that. She knew this was a very delicate subject. "...If that monster reformed himself out of the good of his heart, then he is a kind monster." Slowly, her fingers began to work again, efficiently going back to resealing the tear. She'd finished half of its repair so far. 

Quiet, he stares at simply nothing ahead. "But he's still a monster."

"A monster can still be a monster—" Sakura replies softly, "—but that doesn't mean he's automatically evil." 

Sasuke spends some time dwelling on that thought. "...He eventually chose to."

"But then he also chose to be good again," she adds patiently, a little smile on her lips. 

.

.

Sakura had fell asleep at some point when she'd been repairing the last stitch on his cloak.

He runs his fingers across the repaired spot; it'd felt new again—he didn't know how he became attached to the old thing, but it felt like when he first got it. He had always worn a cloak when he went out for his atonement—at first, it'd be for his safety against the weather, but then he found some comfort in it, taking in the warmth it offers him and with this warmness, he thinks about his team.

It's ridiculous of him to find reasons to like a cloak so much, but Sasuke found himself being lenient to many things after Sakura had somehow wormed her way to his heart, accompanied him on his atonement trip and they'd travel together. On cold days, he'd taken habit to letting her sit in front of him, letting his cloak shield them both from the turbulent winds. On other days, she'd wash the cloak for him and she'd make sure it smelled fresh when he wakes up in the morning when he was more tired than usual. 

_"You didn't have to," he would tell her multiple times. The thing was old, tattered, anyways. Waking up to the scent of the forest, the scent of dry wood, mostly, he could never adjust well to smelling how clean she made his cloak. She didn't have to wash it with the other laundry; it felt like she was some handmaid instead of a traveling partner and he'd feel guilty that his missing arm would render him so incapable of doing simple menial things like washing clothes._

_She would smile at him. "But I want to help! It wouldn't make me feel better if I was stuck doing nothing while you do everything, Sasuke-kun." This seemed ironic to Sasuke._

_"Do as you please," Sasuke remembered himself saying, relinquishing most of the tasks to her ever since that day. He still took care of hunting for food, managing inventory of their weapons and stocked up medical things that she'd brought with her, while she managed laundry, cleaning, and carrying half their things as he took up the other half. Then when he wanted to get the day started with, he'd wrap himself up in that fresh cloak of his that she cleaned up and it would smell like the river and flowers and lavender._

_When they walked, traversing through open fields, Sakura had given a shiver despite being clad in her own cloak, the one she brought from Konoha with her. "I didn't think the winds were that strong here! Maybe we should turn to another direction and find a shortcut?" she had asked him, and he could tell she was running her palms down her arms underneath that flimsy cloak of hers. Gee, why did she take it if she was still cold?_

_"The next village should be just up ahead," he lightly argues, firmly wanting to go straight ahead than go another way around. "A few hours, estimated." She looked conflicted, so Sasuke makes up his mind and he raises his arm, allowing the flap of his cloak to open. "Come."_

_His tone sounds neutral, yet something compelled Sakura to comply with shy pink cheeks. It felt considerably warmer as he directed them forward, his cloak over both of them and his warm palm clasped safely at her shoulder. Even when they got to the village and they parted from each other, it was nice while it lasted—there'd been some semblance of comfort from the gesture and it made Sakura's heart_ thump _and_ thump _and_ thud _. Sasuke dared not to tell her; it'd been obvious at some point when the wind was calming down. He didn't feel the same, but he admitted it to himself that it was nice._

_"Sakura," he later spoke up from his place across the fire they'd set up. They had long trudged past the village and were resting near a little cave that the forests had hidden. He'd seen how she blew her breath into her hands despite the gloves that she wore—winter was coming, that was the telltale sign. Sasuke repeated what he did earlier; he lifts up his arm, his cloak would open, and it'd be welcoming her._

_She'd take the unspoken invitation and she'd situate herself there and he'd wrap the cloak back until she was secure—and all was peaceful from there. It'd lull them to a comforting sleep._

.

.

The next morning, Sakura woke up and her blanket was the cloak. 

 


	24. shampoo

**24. shampoo**

.

.

 

When Sarada passed by Sasuke on her way to her room after dinner, he had to halt. A familiar scent whisks by his nostrils, and he almost thought for a moment that it was Sakura passing by and not their daughter. 

"Papa?" Sarada had seen the way he'd paused, how the sound of his steady footfalls came to an end so abruptly that she couldn't help but look to see if her Papa vanished or not. "What's wrong?" 

It takes Sasuke a couple seconds to fish out a sentence. "You smell different." He always made it a point to be careful of his surroundings; he'd sniff out anything suspicious and his eyes would pass a nook or cranny and he'd deem it safe to walk down the hallways of his own home. Surely, no one was stupid enough to invade his home and territory, but Sasuke liked to stay careful—he has people to protect. They can take care of themselves, but it's from his own willingness that drives him to safeguard the things that made him happy,  _people_  who've made him happy. 

"Smell?" A towel resting on her shoulders, Sarada looked quite different, so normal, without her glasses when she's fresh out of the bath. "Oh, I ran out of shampoo, so I borrowed some of Mama's." 

Ocean. It smelled of oceans. "Ah," grunts Sasuke in return, issuing a nod. But he didn't want to leave her with just that and Kakashi's ( _stupid_ ) advice on bonding kept prodding him, so he tells her, "...It's nice on you." Kakashi had advised terms of endearment, but Sasuke didn't know how to begin with that—or if he should even  _continue_  with that. He'd began with the name 'Peanut' and he felt his heart  _cracking_  when she gave him a scowl and frowned at him and even called him  _annoying_. Fatherhood is new to Sasuke; he sourly didn't know how to begin being a father, it was hard to when he didn't exactly experienced the best memories Fugaku gave him growing up. She even rejected his cloak!

An eyebrow skeptically arched upward on Sarada's face, her hands gripping on the ends of the towel around her shoulders. "Er... Thanks, Papa?" A drop of water dripped from a loose strand of her hair and she snaps out of it. "Good night; I'm going to sleep in early for tomorrow." 

"A mission?"

She gives a little shrug. "Konohamaru-sensei said it was a team gathering, so I don't think so. It starts in the morning."

Allowing her to go back to her room for needed sleep, Sasuke decided to venture to the kitchen—Sakura is there, lining up dishes at the sink and prepping up a sponge and dish soap. It didn't feel right for him to do nothing, so he approaches until he's next to her, idly taking a spare towel to wipe some of the plates she soaked. "You don't have to—" Sakura begins, but he cuts in. 

"I want to," she watches him say, simply, his hand never fumbling as he diligently wipes at the plate to dryness.

When he was finished with one plate, Sasuke places the towel down, uses his hand to stack the plate on the other side of him, then rinse and repeat. Sakura found some peace in this, their silence evident yet it felt so  _nice_  to be doing something with him together, even if that something was boringly cleaning plates. He didn't even wear his glove; he liked that glove, she remembers. When she rinses off the final thing needed to be washed—a petite bowl she'd used to carry the soy sauce—Sakura eyes his sleeve, nearly worryingly. "You have some stains." Water stains would dry within the hour, but she recalled a soap bubble or two ( _or three; she used too much soap_ ) straying over to him.

"It'll dry," he says back, doing his best to dry off the bowl with one hand, and it didn't seem like it was troubling him. 

She'd turned her eyes back to the sink, ready to submerse the rest of the dirtied water down the drain with her plastic gloves in tact, but then a few bubbles were carried off her the moment she'd lifted her hands from the water. Some popped straight away, others flew to her right, and others flew to Sasuke again. "Oops! I'm sorry!"

So she says, but she gives a little giggle at the end and he didn't seem to mind. "Glad to see one of us is having fun." For her, he wears his amused smirk—it's a tad bit lopsided, but she thought it's cute on him, endearing even. 

"It's not often I see you being blasted with bubbles," Sakura chuckles as she makes sure the water was properly drained and that her gloves were dried before she removes them. Sasuke liked to see her hands more than the unflattering plastic gloves that came to her elbow. "I could use a bath." She wiggles her hands despite them being dry. 

He remarks, afterward, "Sarada said you let her use your shampoo."

She's mildly surprised, but she smiles nonetheless. "Yeah! She said she ran out. Why you ask?"

She looks at him and he thinks about spring, about the sea's scent of her shampoo, and then he'd think of a cliff that had a bench in front of the ocean. That had been where he took her out on their first date—then he'd lost his nerves and gave some half-assed excuse and he'd vanished in a puff of smoke and he still felt rather guilty because _he just left her sitting there_. Sasuke wonders if she was ever mad at him for that; that leaving her on a bench twice would break some kind of nerve in her, but it never did and she welcomed him back after a few days of hiding and then he'd wonder how did he ever earned her heart. 

"Just wondering," he goes to answer her with. His back turns to her and he lazily walks out of the kitchen, down the corridor of where the bedroom is. "It smells nice."


	25. smile

**25. smile**

.

.

 

As the years pass, the seasons shifting in its forever cycle, Sasuke found himself softening up too much for his liking. 

He'd take in the collection of rubble and dirt and broken pieces of their former home with a calmness that somewhat shakes at Sakura's nerves, but this, she begins to reason to herself, is Sasuke and Sasuke is always like that: neutral, so much in the gray area. Still, after she had accidentally demolished their home ( _his home, his family's home_ ) from an outburst of an argument she had with Sarada and her long-missing husband finally returning to the village, Sakura had expected _some_ kind of reaction from him as they stand in front of the destruction that no one had yet to clean up. Sasuke  could see her fidget from his peripheral.

Granted, by all rights, it was originally his house and he was still technically the owner of it—he has every right to be angry with her for carelessly wrecking it to tiny pieces. Sakura knew how Sasuke functions; he likes to scowl, frown, click his tongue, give side-glances, scoff, and the like. He never shied away from letting people know his displeasure. So when all he does is quietly observe the nooks and crannies of all the rubble pieces and not uttering a single word to her, Sakura finds herself fairly concerned she might have crossed a line somewhere with him. She knew how he functions, yes, but whenever the subject of his _family_ comes into perspective, it just seemed a bit too taboo for her to mention even if he had claimed his redemption trip had helped him come in terms with it. Half of it is true; the topic of his family may come up and it does indeed stir something painful in him, but he's a strong man. How could he live with it if he can't move on from it? 

He'd told Sakura once, about them. He would tell her with wistful nostalgia that rips at his heart of how his father scolded him often for falling behind. He would tell Sakura about how warm his mother's hugs were and how she always liked to make his favorite foods for lunch. He would tell Sakura about how his brother was always supportive of his goals and dreams and teases Sasuke to no end when things were still good between them—he'd tell her of the forehead poking and while he never outright explained how important it was, she seemed to have understood it anyway from his stories. He liked that about Sakura: she likes to listen to him.

When news about their now-ruined home came up on the way back to Konoha, Sasuke couldn't help but blink at first. He didn't know what to feel about it at first—should he be mad? It was his parent's home for decades, part of the Uchiha estate for probably centuries when it was built. He had many memories there, things that he would like to bury but then dig back up and lock away for himself. Was he sad? Was he angry? Sasuke has to be able answer these.

"...Sasuke-kun?" he could faintly hear Sakura speak up after what felt like eons to him, and he's a little embarrassed that he'd been lost in his old memories while she was mildly concerned for him. "Are you okay?"

He feels himself taking a sharp inhale of breath. He nods instead, to answer her, and then adds, "Don't worry about it." He wasn't sure if he meant that about his well-being or about the house. He just wants her to know it's okay, whatever that reason was he had. "Did you salvage everything you wanted to keep?" He looks at the rubble again, thoughtlessly this time.

She follows his sight idly. "I think I found a few of our clothes scattered—some were from our rooms and some from the laundry I was airing out." Sakura is then contemplative. "Our dishes are ruined, though." No need to say anything about the furniture for obvious reasons. "I think Sarada... found some of the pictures we had." 

Sasuke doesn't ask her how it happened, how the house became like this. He doesn't, also, ask about those pictures. "We should scour some more just in case. Then we can go." She had told him she picked out an apartment already with Sarada, and how they already have a few boxes of the salvaged items they brought back. 

"We'll have to go shopping for a few more things we're missing," she pipes up in an afterthought. "It shouldn't take too long; we just need some bowls and plates and..." She stares ahead at nothing. "Maybe some picture frames. I'd like to frame some of the pictures we have."

Some were memorable pictures, Sasuke could remember. There was their wedding photo—she was clad in a stunning kimono and he, in his simple black, just seemed so plain next to her. She had complained that day about the massive decorations adorning her hair bun, but he remembered that it was a small celebration unlike Naruto and Hinata's thriving party, and he especially liked it when he whisked her away to see the blooming cherry blossoms that day. They didn't take pictures of that moment under the cherry blossom trees as Naruto was the one with the camera, but the sight of her sparkling eyes that day was a memorable enough picture to Sasuke. Other than that, there was their Team 7 photo together. That one picture would always be the anchor in Sasuke's heart to remind himself what matters and truly, his sentiment in it is thick and unwavering. 

Sakura said pictures in plural form and Sasuke grew curious enough to wonder what other pictures she had took when he was away.

"Of course," he tells her, about the picture frame shopping, and she beams. 

A few hours later after diligently plowing through the rubble and securing back two outfits of Sakura's, one from Sasuke, one of Sarada's accessories, Sakura's apron with cherry blossom prints, Sakura insists on carrying the aforementioned items back with her. He lets her despite wanting to object—her stubbornness is a thing to be reckoned with. 

Before they can go retire for the night, Sarada hard at work in the kitchen ( _who else would provide food when both her parents were out trying to salvage things from their wrecked home?_ ) pauses in her slicing of lettuce and leans slightly over the counter when she sees her mama step through the threshold. "Mama!" Quickly, Sarada carefully discards her knife and gestures a finger at the dinner table where a plain beige envelope sat. "Someone came by earlier and told me to give that to you. He said it was for an appointment you booked?" 

 _An appointment?_ Sasuke wonders as he watches his wife gleefully tear the envelope apart to read the contents after she'd dumped their salvaged belongings on the couch. 

Before he could do anything but walk three steps, Sakura comes over to tug at his sleeve. "Sasuke-kun! Make sure to get up early and dress nicely for tomorrow! I have a surprise!" His gaze lingers, bewildered, even when she turned to Sarada and says, "You too! Clean yourself nicely for tomorrow morning—no questions until tomorrow!" With that said, Sakura lets go of his sleeve and runs into the bedroom the apartment offered and both Sasuke and Sarada could hear rustling of clothes. 

"Soup, Papa?" Sarada eventually offers, apparently used to her Mama's eccentricity by now. 

"Ah."

By morning tomorrow, at the crack of nine o'clock, Sakura leads a tired Sarada and Sasuke through the streets. Given certain circumstances, all three of them were short of fancy clothes for whatever Sakura planned, so they all dressed in the usual outfits for themselves: Sakura in her nice red dress, Sarada in her somewhat matching red ensemble, and Sasuke in his vest and dark pants without the cloak that Sakura forbade him from bringing.

A lack of nice clothing doesn't seem to faze Sakura, so she brightly greets the same man who stopped by yesterday to the apartment when the Uchiha family reached a fairly simple building with a mahogany roof. 

 "This way, please!" the man tells them, politely guiding them into a room with a green backdrop and that was when Sasuke finally realizes the surprise Sakura planned the moment he saw a camera prepped in front of the backdrop. "So glad you all came prepared and clean! Saves us time—" He leans over with a hand near his face to feign whispering, just to get a rise out of the camera helper nearby. "—because some of our staff is grumpy today. Missed their morning coffee, ha!" 

Sasuke didn't know how he was able to withstand fifteen minutes of bickering between the staff members, but eventually things went back on track and he found himself situated to Sarada's right and Sakura is at Sarada's left. 

"Alright, will the happy family smile for the camera?" the camera helper asks, almost teasingly, as she readies the button.

Sakura smiled.

Sarada smiled.

Sasuke also smiled that day.


	26. warmth

**26. warmth**

.

.

 

Sarada noticed, for the past week or two, that Sakura was starting to look deprived of sleep.

She partly blames it on the weather—it's so cold outside, leaves rusting in their usual green to muddy brown, and Sakura sometimes came home with half-lidded eyes on particular days with only a doctor's coat on. Other days it'd be the doctor's coat, on other days it'd be her pink jacket with fur lining the hood. It eventually became some guessing game for Sarada: which coat would Sakura be wearing when she came home?

Today, Sakura came home in the doctor's coat. Sarada wouldn't have minded that much if it wasn't for the fact that the doctor's coat meant that it was a busy day in the hospital. 

"Were a lot of people sick today, Mama?" asks Sarada concernedly, her eyes carefully following her mama's sluggish steps ( _more like feet sliding against the ground than walking_ ) to the couch. The bespectacled girl immediately prepares a cup of warm tea in hopes that it would soothe Sakura's weariness. It wasn't too uncommon for Sakura to come back tired—Sarada has seen it too much from childhood to now—but whenever she come back looking like a walking corpse, Sarada couldn't help but be concerned. Papa wasn't around home today; he's busy training Boruto and before Sarada could clench her chopsticks at the thought of it, she shakes her ill thoughts away, opting to pour tea for her mother instead.

That's right, Sasuke isn't home, so it's up to Sarada to look after Sakura. It's a big responsibility that she would gladly take and it wasn't worth thinking about how Boruto was receiving the training regimen that Sarada's always wanted, receiving the bonding time with _her_ papa that she's always wanted— _Stop, Sarada._ Stop thinking.

With a gulp to herself, the girl ventures to the living room, cup of tea in hand, and gently seats next to Sakura to offer it to her. "Here, Mama. Maybe this will make you feel better?"

"Thank you, Sarada," answers Sakura tiredly, eyes alight in gratitude as she takes the cup and is immediately thankful for its warmth on her palms. "And I'm afraid so. It's the cold season after all, so it's expected to see lots of sick patients this time of the year." Their previous Christmases had always been somewhat grim—it'd usually just be shared between Sakura and Sarada, them seated together by the couch and staring out the window, and Sasuke wouldn't be able to make it back. But this year, Sasuke _did_ make it back and she would curse at whatever lords out there that gave her such a sudden influx of patients. She truly looks reluctant to say, but she musters up the courage to murmur, "I might not be able to make it back for Christmas this year."

"No...!" Sarada weakly yells back, eyes grave and widened. "B-But Papa is finally back for this year!"

The only word Sakura could think of describe this is just: grim. Grim like her dimmed frown. "I know... But as head doctor, I have more responsibilities than the rest." She fiddles with her half-emptied cup. "It wouldn't be fair to the ill if we closed the hospital just to enjoy the holidays while they can't, y'know? Makes me feel a little heartless when I think about it." 

Logically, it makes sense. It makes plenty of sense. But this will be the first Christmas they're going to have as a complete family, and she wanted just that! Why did life have to suck so much? Lips quivering, Sarada painstakingly nods, knowing that her mother is faithful to her work and the people she works for. She can't be selfish when a selfless holiday is coming up. "Okay... But can you at least make it back for dinner?"

Sakura takes another sip of tea, wearily smiling into the rim. "I'll try."

.

.

Weeks later, Sarada found herself perplexed at the bag Sakura presents to her, a smile on her lips. 

"Mama _might_ have lied a bit," Sakura tells her, in an odd sing-song way, with a wink and a finger near her lips. Once her daughter takes the bag, Sakura continues, "I said there were a lot of patients—that wasn't wrong. But they weren't in any serious conditions; they just had the common flu and those are easy to cure." Hands on her hips, the woman beams brightly and Sarada thinks she resembles the glowing star atop their tree. "I had some free time and I couldn't work on it at home, so I made you and Papa gifts when I was in my office! Go on, open it!"

Owlishly blinking, she pries apart the white tissue paper covering the contents of the bag and she pauses for a bit when she fingers something of wool-like material. When she finally realizes her gift is a wool scarf of stunning red that matches her outfit, Sarada comments, "It's really warm." She'd wrapped it around her neck when she took it out of the bag, and now it feels warm, so warm. Her fingers lightly pat against the material again, unable to fathom how soft it really is. "You made it yourself, Mama?"

"Sure did!" Pride off her shoulders, she grins. "I'll give Papa his later—it seems like he agreed when I told him to stay a bit longer!" Sakura's smile softens. "I thought I should give you yours first since it seemed like you were the most upset about it."

She didn't even need to clarify what _'it'_ meant, and Sarada understood. "I just really wanted to spend Christmas with you and Papa this year..."

Her arms embrace Sarada gently, Sakura strokes the girl's head. "Your wish came true this year."

Sakura's hugs were always so reassuring, so warm. "I'm glad, Mama."


	27. haircut

**27\. haircut**

.

.

Sakura's petite hands delicately uses her scissors to clip at the unruly tips of her husband's hair. A smile reflecting some small traces of ambiance etches across Sasuke's lips, as evident of the slight curl at the corners. It is a smile he'd seen many times on her face; he was so familiar with it on his wife's peachy features—and it in turn causes his own pair to quirk just right amount, a few millimeters like a domino effect gone right, but it doesn't go past Sakura's eyes as she peers at his face for just a silent moment at the mirror. The floor beneath them became rather littered with hair strands that plunged from the trimmings of Sasuke's hair, and Sakura very nearly rolls her eyes at the inevitable tiresome cleanup she'd be doing later. No doubt, those little strands would give the broom a field day: it'd stick close to the broom straws and she would have to give stubborn shakes over the trashcan for them to finally fall.

"Just a little bit more, alright?" she tells him, her fingers enthusiastically snipping the air with the scissors as her other hand carries the thin comb.

Somewhere along the line of convincing him to have his hair trimmed and she had been the one to volunteer rather reluctantly at first (W _ho remembered that the hair salon closed today? Honest mistake, yeesh!_ ), Sakura eventually sucummed to the alarming fact that it was pretty fun to make snips and snaps at Sasuke's hair. His hair was strange—there were slight curls at the bottom tips, slightly pointy and she'd wonder if he ever gave hair gel a try before. She thinks about his hair, too, when she looks at Sarada: both dark and neat, yet slightly spiky at the end tips. 

Right beside her, Sarada is seated directly still, smile lingering within her eyes as her lips is merely upward by a few centimeters. In her hands is a small supply box, literally littered with Sakura's own personal combs, hairbrushes, and even some hairspray Sarada and Sasuke didn't even knew existed. Amusement in her eyes, Sarada particularly enjoys being the right-hand assistant, if only to see the brief uneasiness in Sasuke's eyes when he sometimes flickered a gaze at those horrendously-taunting scissors of hers that she brandished with determination. He had sat there for a while, and Sarada had seen statues tilt more by turbulent winds than him on this chair. 

"...Right."

From her peripheral, Sakura sees him eye her scissors _again_. "Sarada, I need some water sprayed over here, ASAP," Sakura whispers in a mock-conspiratorially tone to her daughter as she combs through Sasuke's hair.

"Roger, Mama!" The incessant stifling of Sakura's chuckles and Sasuke's silent eye rolls comes so naturally as Sarada grabs a small spray bottle to splash some water at his hair. "Papa, you look like a wet dog."

Some water plops onto the cover they put him under to prevent stray hairs sticking to his clothes. Sasuke stares at how the water drips and drips from the ends of his hair, half-a-mind to move his hand to wring a stubborn droplet that'd been determined to stick than drip. "Wet dog?" He'd been reduced to a mongrel? Kakashi-sensei pops into his mind not too shortly, him and his dumb book and that pack of dogs he watches over. 

In a spur, Sakura snatches the bottle of water and sprays once at Sasuke's profile—and miraculously, it misses his eye and the water favored his whole right cheek. " _Now_ he looks like one!" There is mischief in her eyes and she's smiling because she knows that he knows of her intentions and that he would _totally_ let her slide, which is the truth and he's mildly disappointed that he couldn't do anything about it. "That's what you get for doubting my incredible snipping skills!" She snips the air again for emphasis, the scissors proudly latched on her fingers. "Don't think I didn't see those glances."

Sarada plays along for a moment, "Shame, Papa..." Her head shakes. 

He merely moves his hand to grab a towel nearby and pats his face, knowing that him moving spited her. 

"I said not to move!" he hears her whine behind him, determined to scowl at him disapprovingly. 

Sasuke shrugs, spiting her more. 

She huffs, then goes back to resume her snips and snaps again with great care. Sarada herself is entertained that her parents would act this way, particularly her father because he just didn't smile so easily nor did she thought he had it in him to spite for fun. It doesn't seem like him at all. "On the bright side, at least Mama has the most experience out of all of us," she says after a while of hearing the snips. "I remember when you kept volunteering to cut my hair when I was younger." From impulses, Sarada's hand lightly trails against the tips of her own hair.

"It saves money, y'know," Sakura replies with a laugh and it spills nostalgia everywhere. "You were too young to go to a hair salon—you barely had any hair at all! I might as well get the job done myself."

Sarada gives her an absentminded glance. "I bet you had fun when you did." Her memories can recall her Mama smiling as she snipped. "You must've cut hair a lot to have the experience, right?"

Having been quietly listening, Sasuke focuses on Sakura's face. "Well..." she begins, slowly, eyes never leaving Sasuke's hair as she does her work. "You could say that?" She hums for a moment. "My very first time cutting my hair was... messy." Sakura thinks of dark forests, herself stained with dirt, her eye bruising, scratches on her limbs, pain on her scalp as someone grabbed her hair from behind, and she distinctly remembers a kunai. She thinks of Sasuke's dark eyes that day—they'd been darker than the coal that weapon-smiths use for their work. They'd been so, so dark. Then she thinks of Ino and how she kept scrambling to fix Sakura's mess of her hair and gave snide comments in intervals of seconds, that she lost track of, that _Sakura, you are stupid for doing that. Stop worrying me_. Although focused on her scissors, Sakura responds, "Aunt Ino had to fix it up for me. She said my cutting was lame—can you believe it?!" 

"Actually, I can."

"Hey!" 

"Is that why you had long hair when I was little?" 

Sasuke raises an eyebrow. She had kept her hair short when he left on his mission years ago; she'd bade him goodbye with those short strands framing her face and he'd always remember that look. 

She laughs instead, and it sounds pretty. "Would you believe me if I told you that there was a big rumor spreading around that your Papa liked girls with long hair?" 

Sarada's eyes widen a bit, but not too much. "Really?"

"It was before you were born," Sakura informs, amused and nostalgic and terribly humored by how Sasuke alarmingly looks at her. Those rumors were stupid; she had been a fool to fall for them and groomed her hair as best as she could as she grew up, until it was long and swishing behind her back. Sometimes Sakura missed having long hair—it made her feel pretty for once, even if it had been grown for rather selfish purposes in her childhood. "Papa was really popular with the girls back then and eventually, someone started a rumor that he preferred girls with long hair. The next day, nearly every girl in the Academy were determined to grow out their hair!" 

"Did yo—"

Sakura wastes no time to confirm the inevitable, "Mama did. Grew it all the way down to my back." She places her scissors down and proceeds to comb Sasuke's hair, unsure if he looked like he wanted to vanish or was tired or a mix of both that she decided to dwell on old, old _stupid_ rumors that he found all too annoying. "But then I cut it during a mission and it's always been short from there." She talks casually, but Sasuke could tell how much of the truth she'd hidden, truths she didn't feel that comfortable talking about because the past is the past.

"So, why did you grow it out again when I was born?" Sarada places the scissors into the materials box softly, ears attentive. 

Sakura smiles, her eyes looking past Sasuke's hair, his shoulders, until she meets his gaze in the mirror. "I thought if I grew my hair back out again, then maybe Papa would come back home and tell me to change it." One of the corners of her lips curl upward even more, only for a second, and then Sakura readies to remove the cover off his body, swaying it in the air slightly to shake off the stray hair sticking to it. "Well, looks like you're all set to go now! Sarada, could you put these away for me?" 

Standing up, Sarada takes the materials box and the cover with a nod. "Sure thing."

When the two are alone, Sasuke simply tells her, "Short hair suits you best."

She embraces him from behind. "I like it that way too."


	28. glasses

**28\. glasses**

.

.

"Grab the finger with the ring, Sarada," comes the chiming of Sakura's encouraging voice that seems to trail off into a gentle end as her eyes contain an expectant glimmer towards her daughter. Moments pass and so does the slight wagging of her fingers, a subtle attempt at trying to get her small baby to see the golden band atop her fourth finger: the ring finger. It'd been a simple band that Sasuke forged—a special little thing it was to her.

A scoff. "It's only been two  _weeks_  since she's been born." Karin wears an expression of mundane seriousness even before she crossed her arms over her chest, index finger tapping along her arm absentmindedly. "Just because you married a prestigious man doesn't mean your child will automatically become the same."

Patience is the key.

Simplistic thinking, Karin knows, but it really does pay off in the end. Even if the woman beside her used to be branded an enemy to her, the redhead cannot find it in herself to deny those wistful emotions locked into the eyes of Sasuke's wife back when they first met: Karin's back cold against cracked cement as Sakura busied healing her fatal wounds. The tears that fell on Karin's face unwillingly reveals so much and it made Karin realizes just how true the old saying _absence makes the heart grow fonder_ really is. It had been the first time Karin had seen such passion; it made her so bittersweet,  _so goddamn indignant._ Some part of Karin hasn't gotten over Sasuke, even as the years pass and his marriage with Sakura is sturdy as ever, but she's aware that it's a losing battle for her and she's content enough to see his life getting better even if it meant taking care of his wife and baby.

"But—" Sakura cries out, her head rotating enough for her to peer at her comrade. "—Karin! Even if she is still so young, she should've been reaching out for something that stands out in front of her, like this ring!" Children and babies are easy to entertain; they often do make a grab for anything shiny, anything pretty. Sakura had seen the way some of the babies acted whenever mothers gave birth in the hospital and whenever the nurses dangle toys in front of them.

Except Sarada had a hard time deciding  _which_  something stood out for her as her arms hesitantly wave around.

As if she cannot spy the band around her mother's finger.

Always one to speculate, one of Karin's arms uncrossed to let her thumb settle upon her lips in contemplation and her eyes attain a focused gaze at the baby. "Let's check something."

When Sakura scoots to the side, Karin proceeds to hold up two wooden sticks that used to be lingering midst the rubble of her hideout. One stick shines in a coat of red ( _which Sakura will not remark about as she has a good idea what happened to it_ ) and the other maintaining its normal brown exterior. Not your average eye test of reciting letters off a chart, but seeing how this used to be a hideout for rather dark purposes, it'd be best to improvise something else. Besides, Sarada cannot speak yet. Despite that, the impromptu test is highly appreciated.

"Sarada, can you gesture to the red stick for Aunt Karin?"

When Naruto called Karin that in front of Sarada, the baby reacted so jubilantly, pudgy hands clapping enthusiastically—and so, _Aunt_ _Karin_ stuck to her. It aggravated the redhead at the beginning and it still does a little, but traces of indignation vanishes when the baby does indeed point at the red stick, her glowing face beaming brighter than ever under fluorescent lights. She honestly thought the test would be a flop and didn't think the baby could even comprehend what _red_ or _stick_ was. Maybe the smarts of her parents were just _that_ inheritable.

Karin hums, further continuing this unofficial test. Her fingers now hold up two regular brown wooden sticks, but she manages to scribble a quick small smiley face with a marker on the top of the other stick before resuming her hold on both objects. "How about the one with the smiley face?"

A quirk of her head commenced, Sarada gurgles a confused noise.

Everything's blurry.

With some hesitation, her finger points randomly; the regular stick was chosen instead. Karin taps the chosen stick against her chin, pondering about the child's eyes before she sets the items down and scour over her desk. No luck. Dried old cloths, test tubes, calculator, pliers, papers—nothing here can really help. Then again, she's not exactly a  _professional_  eye doctor. It's only when her face reflects off her small desk mirror does she finally feel an idea coming up.

_I'm so smart._

Karin's hands settle at the sides of her glasses, lifting the red frames off her face and with much delicateness does she place them on the baby's face. Sakura, who had been busying herself with a messenger hawk ( _from her husband, she concludes_ ) outside, returns just in time and smiles at how the scene resembles a princess getting crowned to be a queen like in fairy tales.

It's a small sacrifice—Karin had been quite attached to these frames—but it'll be worth it.

"How about now?" She lifts the sticks again, patiently awaiting. Sakura does not see it since the redhead's back faces her, but Karin's lips twitches into a smile upon receiving the right answer this time. "I think I found the problem. Kiddo here can keep those. I can always get another pair."

Sakura observes how Karin ruffles the baby's head and says nothing as she grins, scooping Sarada in her arms. "Thank you." _For everything._ She'd like to say the rest, but she'd feel like Karin would humbly wave it off.

It's just a small sacrifice, but it's worth it. "Just get outta here before I get more 'eye patients' lining up for business." Karin rolls her eyes, feeling quite odd without her frames occupying her face.

Sarada giggles, and then she lets out a squeal as she tries to hold the glasses up. 

Karin couldn't tell if it was a sheer stroke of luck that her prescription is exactly what Sarada needed for her eyes, but one thing is certain: it's definitely worth giving them away. Sarada may be her favorite niece even though she is her _only_ niece.

"Feel free to come by again when she's older!" 


	29. cat

**29\. cat**

.

.

Poking the ends of a cat's nose, Sarada stares.

Her face exhibits wonder, her right cheek lying atop her arm lazily curling on the tabletop. Her opposite arm props upward, the gentle but incessant pokes to the feline's nose induces a few adorable noises from the critter and she could not help but marvel at the majestic coat of black fur it has as it casually meows at her.

The cat is currently lost, nameless. She would not want to grace a name onto a pet that had been previously a part of someone else's life, a part of someone's family. Giving it a name would be rude to the original name it holds. So, Sarada merely addresses it as _kitty_. Sasuke doesn't even bother with a name—he never regards it with anything of the like but gentle pats. Sakura, who was more than compassionate enough to allow her daughter to care for such a darling animal, calls it Grumpy Jr. 

( _"It resembles your Papa," Sakura laughs heartily, her hands stashing away the plates she had just finished wiping. "He used to look like that: mysterious and grumpy."_ )

Naruto had confessed that Himawari would've loved to care for the darling animal, but it would cause a hassle for Hinata to handle and supervise. He ended up suggesting for Sakura and her family to take care of it, commenting how someone as sour as Sasuke could use a new buddy in his life. Sakura had chortled and thought about the odd look she received from her husband when he heard of her nickname for the cat. It had been dinnertime, and Sarada could've sworn he had smiled a little behind the rim of the bowl he ate rice from. She doesn't comment it, though.

Sarada's eyes languidly trace over the dark critter, her palm settling tentatively on its head. 

Sasuke had agreed to take in the feline, but he was a bit speechless when Sarada volunteered to do most of the work. He sometimes fed it at the appropriate times of the day—should he be held up with something, he'd compose a simple bullet list with sticky note on the fridge. Whenever she brought it up to Sakura about how Papa could ever thoroughly know what a cat likes, her Mama would shake her head and like to tell her _Papa really likes cats!_

During his off days, Sasuke occupies the living room, Sarada remembers, and there'd be a scroll propped at his hand as the cat falls into slumber on his lap and Sakura would sometimes busy herself in the kitchen with an extra plate of food for it. She always thought it was a little strange to see him like that, so contemplative and normal and peaceful. Were cats really that amazing to him? Sarada can't be sure.

She'd only seen another cat aside from this one and it was decided between her and Boruto that Mitsuki would be the one to take it in, and it's so terribly ironic because Sarada had told them that the apartment she and Sakura found had a restriction about pets but here she was, taking care of a cat. Boruto and Mitsuki went off to be boys elsewhere and she was left with not much choices left to hand the cat over to. Sumire and her team were away for the weekend, ChouChou wasn't that great with animals, and Sarada wasn't too close to the other boys enough to ask a favor from them.  

So when she took the critter home with her with reluctance weighing her shoulders, Sakura warmed up the idea and Sasuke quietly abides her decision. Sarada expected disagreeing—Sakura initially did disagree, but then she relented not too long after, unable to have the heart to leave the poor thing by itself on the streets. Her Papa didn't say much, but he seemed to like it. If he wasn't letting it rest on his lap for a nap, then Sasuke was petting it or feeding it. 

( _"He doesn't admit it much—" Sakura starts gently, fingers firmly grasping onto the end of a comb to properly brush her daughter's hair, "—but your Papa has a really soft spot for cats. Said they weren't 'noisy' or 'troublesome' to have around." She hadn't told Sarada, but Sasuke's fondness also came from his redemption travels. Sometimes, when he's by himself underneath trees, stray cats came by and gave him some semblance of peace. He'd told her in his letters that they welcomed him._ )

"Sarada."

She looks at the threshold of the door. He's home. "Papa? Welcome back."

His shoes scuff against the floor as he removes them and his cloak, and he nods. "How is it doing?" 

Clarification was not needed. "It's being extra lazy today—" Her finger pokes it on the nose again and the cat merely tries to lick it as she takes her finger away. "—since you were gone, I think." She pets its head. "It didn't want to play with me." She'd tried yarn, balls, treats—all of it futile and it's probably because the cat wasn't a dog and she has no idea how to take care of a cat despite her previous optimism. Maybe she should've asked Mitsuki first before this. 

 "Come—I'll help you." The cat leaps off the table, approaching Sasuke. "I'll show you what it likes. Sakura won't be back until dinnertime, so we have some time."

Sarada beams.

 


	30. dinner

**30\. dinner**

.

.

"So many tomatoes, Mama…"

Sarada never really liked them; they taste strange, and the whole fruit versus vegetable conundrum had her mind boggled when she was younger. But that hadn't been what did it for her. When Sakura had told her that Sasuke loves tomatoes, Sarada had always hated tomatoes since then—she couldn't regard them as plain, ordinary fruits if she knew that _Papa_ liked them. Scarcely, she had always made sure to avoid ketchup or tomatoes whenever she could. Tomatoes were tolerable to her on some occasions, but tonight, seeing the dozens of tomatoes being stuffed in the fridge, she wasn't sure how her tolerance level would handle it.

Sakura blinks, though she cannot seem to comprehend how having a bag full of tomatoes could ever be regarded as  _too much_. "What do you mean? Your Papa usually likes it when there's a lot of tomatoes stocked up—it's his favorite, I recall." She snickers, amused, when she hears the slightly disgruntled noise from her daughter as she stores the aforementioned tomatoes away in the fridge. Ironic, how her daughter grew up to despise the very food her own father adores.  _What would he say?_

With her fingers pushing up her glasses, Sarada continues to stir the broth in front of her and watches as the steam arise in thick waves. "But if he's never home, there's no point to having so many. They'd—"  _Rot._  "—go bad." His absence always impacted Sarada such, enabling her to grow up bitterly, straying away from the happy picture Sakura always envisioned for her childhood. Sometimes, on particularly sour days, Sarada makes no effort to hide her despondent indignation and Sakura would have to inwardly sigh.

Sakura's chest swells up a little in remorse, silent guilt flourishing in her eyes and she's grateful that her back is facing her bespectacled daughter to avoid suspicion. "That's not true," she replies softly, her motherly patience showing off. "He's the only one strong enough to be trusted with  _those_ kinds of missions. It does consume a lot of time." She pushes the fridge door to a close and checks the cabinet doors briefly before she grabs a knife to continue the lettuce chopping as Sarada tends to the broth. "A shinobi's life isn't easy—you know that, Sarada."

Her nose subtly scrunches.

Her Mama said 'those' like it is her way of saying _he has a legit reason for always not being here, so please stop talking about it and give him a break._ A sigh she lets out, Sarada complies nonetheless. "He could've,  _at least_ , wrote to us once in awhile." It's better than flat-out vanishing; Sarada's amount of worry wouldn't be so ridiculously high. He doesn't ever seem to bother remembering that he has a cellphone or even a messenger hawk. It seems unfair for the only one to receive hawk mail from him is the Nanadaime. It's also unfair that Naruto refused to tell the two of them whenever he was mailed too. Naruto's only trying to spare feelings, but really—Sarada would love to hear _something_ from her own family.

"Naruto said he'd be in places with no suitable places meant for writing." She pauses, a bit amused that her daughter silently acknowledges that Sasuke doesn't really use his cellphone a lot, opting to talk about how he should write via his favorite messenger hawks instead. "Did you expect him to send tens or dozens of messenger hawks?" comes her lighthearted jest as she plugs in the rice cooker near the cabinets and letting herself balance plates along her palms. It'd be pretty funny: Sasuke only has one hawk and envisioning it carrying dozens of letters would be laughable, yet pitiful all the same.

A snort, the expected reaction. How could Sakura read her mind so well? "Of course not, Mama. It's just nice to write once in awhile to inform people that he or she is still  _alive_." Sarada momentarily sips at her broth experimentally, the flavorful sweetness temporarily quelling her tension before she gently sprinkles some salt. "I bet he writes to Nanadaime-sama more than us, his own family." She might've heard Boruto or Shikadai talk about it, but given their lack of insight on Sasuke's bond with Naruto, both weren't really helpful to her.

"Sarada."

The girl in question halts, her lips pursing uncomfortably and the ladle lifelessly resting at the pot's rim.

Sakura sounds pushed, like someone trimmed off the last nerve of patience she possesses—but Sarada notes on how her mother's eyes are achingly loving. "I've been meaning to tell you, but Naruto did tell me that your Papa's coming back tomorrow." Sakura flickers a light gaze at the fridge, where those tomatoes were resting idly. "That's why I wanted to welcome him back, with all the things that he loves," murmurs Sakura, tone affectionate. "Those tomatoes are going to contribute for tomorrow's dinner, and his bento when he sets off."

Bento.

Does this mean he's going to leave them again after  _one day_  of showing signs of breathing and living? Had it not been for the memory of her Papa's words— _b_ _ecause you exist_ —then her Sharingan would've activated, in which she assumes would be the final straw to wrecking today's dinner and her Mama's good mood. Luckily, those words give her hope. And hopefully, her Papa's thinking about them right now. One day. At least she'll see him for one day. Another day, he'll be back longer—maybe two days, three days, four days, five days, _longer_.

Sarada trots to the refrigerator, feeling eyes on her back. Sakura almost laughs in sheer amusement when she sees her daughter holding a plump tomato in hand, but continues to wait for the rice to be finished cooling off by now as she starts slicing carrots. "I thought you didn't like them?"

Despite herself, Sarada grins, reminding Sakura a little bit of Naruto. "I don't. But maybe, it'll add some flavor for tonight's dinner. Besides—" Sarada speaks as she tries to tolerate the flow of juice spilling onto her fingers the moment she sinks the knife into the flesh of it next to Sakura's carrots. "—I'm sure Papa won't notice if I borrow only  _one_ from his apparent stash, Mama."

"That soup you're making better be good then!" Sakura smiles and jokes, and she smiles for Sasuke because he would've been happy to see this. 

 


	31. fireworks

**31\. fireworks**

.

.

Both Sasuke and Sarada eye Sakura with fascination and arching eyebrows. The woman, in return, pays no heed to them as she busies herself with stacks of something that the two have not really seen before. She seems to be enthusiastic—her hums fill the empty silence previous occupying the apartment, a sound not too uncommon on the premises ever since she and Sarada began to live here after the debacle with the original home.

Sarada, not having seen her go shopping for these things, is the first to ask her about it. "What are those, Mama?" Sasuke doesn't venture into it, already having his inquiry expressed from her daughter for him. It's a rarity itself that Sakura is so enthusiastic tonight. Sarada had been under the impression that she would be neck-buried in work on a day like today—when she passed by the hospital on a couple days within this week, Sarada had seen groups of people go in and out. Maybe her Mama got a lucky break today, if she had been fortunate enough to shop a bag of something bulky inside.

With a grin adorning her face, Sakura lifts up one of the packets, delighted. It's large and rectangular: it seems to be a small box with a depth not too deep, and clear plastic covers the front. "Fireworks! I figured we should all light a few up this year since we never got to celebrate the new year the previous time. I heard from Boruto that it's really fun!"

Sakura had missed seeing fireworks so much. The last time she did, it had been during her genin years—she, Sasuke, and Naruto were aligned at a bridge somewhere a bit far from the main festivities, but Sakura had loved that moment specifically because she had rested her head on Sasuke's shoulder for a bit until he shoved her off when Naruto began to mimic her on _her_ shoulder. It was romantic and colorful ( _and somewhat spiteful because of Naruto_ ); she would love to see something like that again eventually and what better way to do that than blow up fireworks for the beginnings of a new year with her family?

"...You spent money on  _this_?" Sasuke murmurs from his position by the wall, a hand propped at his hip as he scrutinize the trivial packet critically, as if it's not worth his time. It really isn't. 

Sakura's lips proceed to sag downward, a pout evident. "But Sasuke-kun!" Half-heartedly, she whines, prompting Sarada to wonder if she was truly an adult as times. "It's so rare for us to have family time together! It's the start of a new year—let's start it right by doing something together for once, ne?" Truly, she wishes for all the family time they could ever get. She's not really willing to let it slide right now. With how slow everything seems to be nowadays ( _she recalled many people coming to the hospital during visiting hours to pick their friends and family up for the holiday_ ), she's even sure that Naruto is trying to spend time with his own family right now—and _succeeding_ , Sakura bets with dread as she looks at her family.

The years have softened him up too much because all Sasuke does is sigh with a slight movement of his head, although he does grumble inwardly. When his wife is stubborn, she's  _stubborn_. "Do what you want." Perhaps seeing the fireworks being lit along with the others would make her happy after all. He's not one to deny that he likes Sakura best when she's happy.

Sarada watches as he quietly retreats into their living room. "I guess I'll give them a shot, Mama," she volunteers, finally snapping out of her reverie. Surely it can't be that bad to have fun and indulge her Mama for awhile.

An eyebrow arches upward. "Even after how I said that  _Boruto_ claimed it was fun?" Last time she'd checked, Sarada and Boruto sometimes fought like a pair of childish cat and dog. Maybe that camping trip Sarada attended of Boruto's helped their bond a bit, but even so, Sakura had not been there to witness it. No matter—she's probably just overreacting. After all, they are teammates and teammates are each other's friends with time. 

Her shoulders shrugging, Sarada concedes, "If Boruto said something like fireworks are fun, I assume he's somewhat smart enough to prevent himself from getting burned by it—so, it shouldn't be a problem for me to use them either." In fact, it would not surprise her in the slightest bit if the loud _booms_ outside the apartment were caused by him. There is no better suspect.

An awkward laugh slips out of Sakura and she pities the poor aforementioned boy. " _Sarada_ ," she says in a mockingly serious tone. "Be nice. I haven't really played with fireworks in a long time, but wouldn't it be beautiful if we shoot our fireworks up when other people do it too?" Her back turns to face her daughter as she begins to pack her other groceries away. "The sky would look so colorful… I can't wait! Even your Aunt Ino said over the phone that she bought some to light up!"

While her Mama's giddiness is evident in her grin and awestruck eyes, Sarada feels that the thing that impacted her excitement the most is probably her Papa's presence. After all, he rarely does come home—Sakura must have really felt lonely, especially since a new year is approaching them. Starting a new year with the absence of loved ones; it doesn't seem right. "I'll go put my stuff away while you get the fireworks ready, Mama."

When she walks off, she could barely catch Sakura's confirmation and Sarada looks at her Papa gazing out the half-covered windows. "Papa?"

He doesn't turn from the sight outside—a bunch of blues and greens and yellows right now, with some ecstatic squealing outside—and he says, "Sarada." 

"Are you excited for tonight?" she asks as she unties the pouch she keeps at her waist. "Mama sure is."

Sakura gets excited a lot, but nevertheless, Sarada's so glad to see that there isn't any tired tension on her Mama's shoulders from workload or stress. She can't possibly imagine how the lead doctor could manage her schedule between long shifts, paperwork, checkups, shopping, and down time. When Sarada was still a baby, Sakura had to take maternity leave and spend some time being a stay-at-home mother to take care of her—Sakura would only ever leave her alone if, and only if, there was a dire emergency or operation that only she could lead. Now that Sarada is old enough, Sakura had been working more in the hospital ( _the aftershock of the trauma she inflicted on herself about their destroyed home and the dread of paying off their loan has severely left her paranoid about money_ )  while making some time for her. Sarada missed those days where she'd come home from school and Sakura would give her the warmest hugs. 

The woman tries so hard, so Sarada feels relieved to see her Papa nod his head even if it seemed a bit half-hearted since it's for Sakura's sake. 

"She could use a break," Sasuke ends up saying when there is another explosion of yellows and oranges outside. "She's been hard at work, no?"

Sarada wished she could know what he thinks about. "Yeah, she has." Her hands adjusted her glasses for a moment. "She couldn't stop jumping when she found out she got time off this week. It was pretty busy near the beginning." 

He didn't say anything more, and Sarada's fine with that. 

"Sasuke-kun! Sarada! Help me carry these outside, so we can get started!" Sakura appears from the kitchen threshold, bundles of unlit fireworks cradled in her arms. And none of it deters the smile that is on her face. "We don't want to fall behind now. I bet we're the only ones still indoors right now! Let's go!"

Sarada sees Sasuke smile and that's how she knows it'll be okay.


	32. rain

**32\. rain**

.

.

 _Cold_.

That's the word Sasuke thinks of the moment his visage is greeted by rain droplets pelting the world, around his property—his home. Water drips downward, pelting and pelting away at his face; some even danced on his outstretched hand before morphing altogether into a little puddle in his palm. Nature cries aloud with these rain droplets and Sasuke wonders just how much suffering had this world been through for so, so long.

He likes the rain. It helps him find peace, a sense of solitude and isolation that is enhanced by the dreariness of the world. Sunny days are nice, but an argument frequently supplied by him includes lack of presences outside, a way of peace he so often seeks for, and that is how he would find atonement.

Uchiha Sasuke is a complex mind—others have stated so themselves, blatant and with an edge of snark, perhaps some scorn birthed from old jealousy. Why become so immersed with the dirty tears of the world when one could, instead, opt to seek for warm sunshine? The answer is strikingly simple, especially to a mind like Uchiha Sasuke.

He has a desire to be like the rain. Rain—it is often seen as gray: so dark and cold, and it virtually does nothing but strike from the skies. But, rain acts as salvation to drying plants and serves to rejuvenate the rest of the decaying soil. Even though rain is such a hindrance to people, others see it as a miracle disguised by a curse. He wishes he could be like that. He would like to be someone who can come through to the end. He wants to help, to make up for what his vindictiveness had made him done. It would take years, perhaps even longer than that, but he would see to it with his own determination.

Light footfalls could be heard from his side, but he makes no attempt eye at the person. He knows. "You should still be in bed."

A huff and tired chuckle, but her voice is still as recognizable as ever. "It's not a crime if I want to wake up early to see my husband leave for his who-knows-how-long journey." Ah, he never forgot how she would take a few jabs at him for that or the other various times he'd done so. Frankly, it still felt a little odd to hear _husband_ come from her mouth to describe him. They really are man and wife, but that one word—husband—still feels strange to hear.

Sasuke quietly assesses the murkiness of the muddy dirt paths outside his property. "How's—"

An immediate interruption, almost instantaneous. "Sound asleep. Must've trained too hard again last night." Sakura's lips carry a heavy line crossed between a smile and with some bits of concern. It would seem that his inability to accept taking breaks was inheritable; subjecting to being patronized isn't his strong suit. Sasuke remains silent as the rain drizzles, but Sakura continues, "She had a long day. Said something about Boruto being stubborn and draining her energy." He hears her chuckling, more so weary than amused.

"A child of Naruto is  _always_  stubborn." He moves his hand, the motion allowing the remaining water to drizzle the soil and he casts a final glance outside before heeding his wife's silent pleading eyes to retreat inside. "Dealing with him practically everyday is commendable. I had no doubts she couldn't handle it."

Quietly assessing the empty spot her spouse stood at, Sakura's eyes slowly dart to his turned back after a glance spared to the graying scenery. "I'll prepare the tea—"

"—Rest," cuts in Sasuke, his voice a soft murmur. "You're tired." He'd noticed the frequent yawns and dark circles; he knew that she's aware of this and that he would take note of it.

"It's nothi—"

"—Sakura." The ending trails off, but his stance is the same.  _Please_. It echoes in his head, but his Uchiha pride be damned if it were uttered, although he had a feeling she would get it anyway. He'll admit he'd taken the habit of speaking her name—he thinks of it ever so often, perhaps more as a reason to live, if anything. "...Go."

Keeping up with Sarada as she helped checked hospital documents yesterday surely drained her, as evident in her numbing arms and half-lidded eyes. She thinks about insisting it would be fine, for she only had several more signatures to sign, but the temptations for a bed and pillow ( _and a presence beside her later_ ) felt too great to resist at this point.

Affectionately, her hands start to latch onto his with a squeeze. It'd taken some time for Sasuke to grow accustomed to her actions of physical touch, and it always made him feel welcomed. A smile, small and tired, appears on her lips. "Alright, you win." Sakura starts heading to the bedroom after relinquishing his hand, though she halts once her hand is placed upon the room's threshold. "Anata, could you stack my papers over there by the table? I need them ready by tomorrow, so I'd appreciate it!"

He misses the warmth on his palm already. More than compliant, he responds with a nod. He isn't, admittedly, the best at paperwork as he had many things calling for his attention, but the least he could do for her was stack them—even if he is an arm less than two.

When Sasuke sits himself at the couch and lightly grabs the first few papers ( _these signatures look shaky; he is aware of why they are like that_ ) to look at, he pauses. His eyes unintentionally stray to a piece of sticky note messily slapped on a manila folder. There is a doodle of three heads underneath the words 'Medical Documents' that he easily recognizes with ease. Sarada's glasses was scribbled in red, Sakura's top half of her body and Sasuke's eye were also colored in red. Her red pen must be running low on ink as he notes the fading of ink near Sarada's headband.

In spite of himself, his eyes close briefly as he exhales softly, a little smile in place. Sasuke resumed shuffling through the papers as though nothing had transpired, if it weren't for the clue that is the faint uplifting of his lips as the clock ticks in the back. He didn't have to leave so soon anyways. Naruto could deal.


	33. giggles

**33\. giggles**

.

.

"Thank you for volunteering to help with Sarada's costume, anata," says a hoarse-sounding Sakura, hair disheveled with a warm blanket around her shoulders. Her hands weakly clutch at the blankets closer to her, a feeble attempt to keep herself warm from the chilly early evening air. Despite it being closed, the cold breeze seems persistent to seep through even the smallest of cracks. He nods at her as reassurance that it wasn't a bother to him.

Sakura blows into a tissue, back wearily flat on their couch.

Halloween is today, yet today is also the day that Sakura just had to catch a fever from one of her patients yesterday—it was utterly ridiculous! Sakura, Konohagakure's best medical doctor, sick and bedridden! On Halloween day too, not to mention! Shizune and Ino had piped in about how she was also overworking too this month, and it turns out to be true. Sakura had been trying her hardest this month to finish everything on the agenda lately and while it isn't wise for a doctor to rush into things, she just really wanted to make it home on time to celebrate Halloween—with her family and friends without work in the way. Sasuke also managed to find the time to come back in time for it, for he knew just how much she loved the festivities.

He sacrificed time for her, and she wanted to reciprocate that. Being sick wasn't on the agenda and it never was planned either. She couldn't even heal herself since most of her chakra went into her patients instead. The best she had were medicinal pills and those work painstakingly slow. A doctor at her own peril and carelessness. How shameful. But maybe this is fine—Tsunade remarked how Sakura being ill reminds her that Sakura's still a human, not a non-stop working machine. Tsunade also demanded her on bed rest, and Sakura wanted to argue that she could heal herself in a couple of hours after her chakra comes back. The woman had lifted her alcoholic bottle and nearly screamed at her to get rest like a normal human being. 

To add more salt to the wound, contrary to the fun and exciting atmosphere that Halloween is known for, there also its cons. Sometimes Sakura has to, reluctantly, look forward to treating more patients around this time of year. Enemies apparently love to ambush Konoha civilians when people are busy trying to spice up the village for the festivities with materials obtained from neighboring villages. She could've laughed at the situation—why is there a reason to attack Konoha when the war was over? Trade routes were being frequented more to deliver goods for the festivities being hosted. It establishes good connections and camaraderie, so why would there be a need to disrupt that? She didn't get it. 

Maybe some shinobi are just truly unsatisfied with the world, opting to find the littlest of things to fuss about. If it's Naruto's guidance as Hokage they're unsatisfied about, they would have to take it up with her, tired or not.

This year on this particular Halloween, three year-old Sarada is merrily clapping her hands in a show of excitement the moment she sees Sasuke readying to place a witch's hat on her head.

The original plan was to have her as a zombie, makeup and everything, when Sakura had found her daughter all surrounded with her own makeup when she'd came back from work one day. However her husband apparently didn't agree to letting his daughter coat her face in _silly_ paint in risk of her face so Sakura, in a fit of tired defeat from her sickness, sighed her way into agreeing on a simple witch costume instead. Not too terribly affected by her sickness, Sakura had let Sarada borrow one of her treasures for her costume: the red ribbon Ino had given her when they were children. It accentuated the frills and colors of the dress, especially her glasses, with its bright red.

Sarada particularly seems to love the broom the costume came with. Sasuke could see the discomfort on his wife's face when their child won't stop poking her arm with the accessory in question, sympathy clear in his silent gaze. "Sarada… Honey, take it easy on Mama's tired limbs, okay?" Sakura weakly laughs, unable to find strength to do anything else. "Don't want Mama's arms falling off, huh?"

He makes a slight movement, an arm lifted to gently stop the vivid movement, but he's forced to take a pause. Sakura, rather uncomfortable with lying on the couch and having her arm assaulted, smiles at him. The crease of her brow speaks against the action, but he soon steps back in quiet surrender and lets Sarada's gurgled laughter flood the room. _Let her have her fun_ , her eyes tell him.

Understandably, the change of plans of switched costumes was unknown to Sarada. She couldn't comprehend adult speech yet, and therefore, had no clue that she would not be caking her face in purple makeup or dressing up in an  _undead_ -looking outfit. Sasuke admittedly hadn't an idea of  _how_ excited she had been for this holiday, but he is quite aware that Sarada wanted nothing more than a fun Halloween, which is another reason why he went with witches. He thought she would have fun casting make-believe spells on her friends. That's what children like to do, right? Prank people? He's not too terribly familiar with trends, if there were even any.

If poking Sakura on the arm with a plastic broom was the first step to making it a fun Halloween, then Sasuke is willing to let his wife make the decision of either withstanding it or stopping it and respecting her on it.

He knows which option she took, so he merely watches at the endearing scene, Sarada's ecstatic laughter echoing against their quiet walls.

"Now it's Papa's turn to be poked!"

_Ah._


	34. gloves

**34\. gloves**

.

.

Today, the family was cleaning around the apartment.

Sheepishly, a few days ago, Sakura had remarked that she didn't have the time to unpack all of their belongings into the new apartment because of her errands. There hadn't been too much hospital shifts this week for her, but Sakura considers herself a busy woman. Sarada was told that she walked nearly everywhere in the village, seeking for ingredients, helping out her friends as a favor, and checking on the apprentice nurses-in-training at the hospital.

Feeling that her Mama did too much for everyone except herself, Sarada had stubbornly convinced her to take one day off to unpack everything for their new residence, to which Sakura had been reluctant to accept. It took some convincing, but Sarada had asked Shizune to take over her Mama's duties for the day as a favor and obviously willing to help whenever she can, Shizune had agreed wholeheartedly (" _Spend time with your family, Sakura! I better not see you here for the next twenty-four hours! I'm serious!"_ ) to the idea.

Sasuke was roped into it because he was requested by Naruto to come back to oversee a few issues, and it's not like Sasuke went anywhere else but home when he's off duty.

When Sasuke tells her that afternoon that Sakura had sent him to tell her that she would like to have a word with her, Sarada hadn't been too entirely fazed. After all, Mama called her up many times for something—to ask her a question, greet her, seek for opinions, just chat, all that like.

The moment she steps beyond the threshold of the door leading to her parent's bedroom, she sees Sakura seated patiently, a pair of dark leather-like objects resting on her palms.

"There you are!" Sakura exclaims first upon looking up, her lips curling into a smile. "I thought you stepped out or something since I didn't hear you."

Sarada humors her, "So you sent Papa to find me?" In another moment, she sees Sakura's eyes shimmer and Sarada finds herself shaking her head endearingly. "I was in the living room, unpacking the curtains and couch pillows." Musingly, she taps a finger on her chin. "I think I also found your missing teacup too."

"Oh, that's great! I love that cup." Not wanting to beat around the bush, Sakura tells her, "Speaking of things that I love, I have something for you."

"What is it?" Sarada crosses the small distance the door had to sit beside her, settling her hands at her lap as Sarada looks at the bundle in her Mama's hands. "Gloves?"

They look to be made of dark leather and they seem rather worn-out and dirtied near the fingers and knuckles. Other than that, they look like any other pair of gloves—but she can tell they weren't ordinary at all, not if Sakura's nostalgic smile says anything about it.

"They used to be mine," Sakura informs her, slipping them over her hands one last time and flexes her fingers at the all-too familiar feel of them. "I wore them for so many years… I started to wear them when I decided to better myself as a person, as a shinobi."

A little astonished, Sarada echoes, "Better yourself? Why, Mama?" Her Mama is already amazing, no? What could she want to better?

Chuckling, Sakura slips off the gloves. "Well when I was younger, I used to be pretty weak." It is not an opinion, but rather, a fact at this point. Sakura from years ago would faint at the Sakura now. "Mama was the load that nobody wanted to take with them. Your Uncle Naruto, Uncle Kakashi, and your Papa always had to swoop in to save me."

"You're amazing!" Sarada tries to argue, but Sakura cuts her off.

"Not back then." She strokes the gloves absently. "I was more preoccupied with my looks than being a ninja. It wasn't until the Chunin Exams that I began to shape up."

Sarada finds herself asking, "What happened during your exam?"

" _Lots_  of things went wrong!" Sakura's head starts to shake from all those memories. "I was the only one left standing while your Uncle Naruto and Papa were out cold. We were in the forest—I had to take care of them by myself. It was going fine for a while, but then…" Sarada sees her Mama's hands clench, in a painful sort of way. "We were ambushed. I had to protect them. I even set up traps, but they failed. Eventually, I got cornered and one of them grabbed my hair from behind."

Mortified, Sarada remains quiet. There is a foreboding silence until Sakura continues narrating.

"I felt lost—I didn't know what to do. Then I began to think about all the people who had to protect me and even made sacrifices to save me in the process." Lee's grin shows up in her thoughts. "I let so many people get hurt because of me, and I got really sick of it. I didn't want to keep looking at everyone's backs forever, y'know?"

"So you…?" murmurs Sarada, voice quiet, inviting for more to hear.

Sakura's eyes drift to gloves again. "I decided to change myself that day. Grabbed my kunai and cut my hair off to escape. Ever since that day, Mama has worked her hardest to become the person you know now. And these—" She lifts up the gloves with a smile. "—helped me along the way."

Sarada feels breathless. "Wow… Mama, you really  _are_ amazing." Perhaps she could aspire for that too someday. Sarada knows she has a long way to go, and the trip would not be easy for her.

Modest, Sakura laughs it off. "Everyone is amazing, Sarada. Not just me!" Her lips still curled up into a smile, she gently presses her gloves into Sarada's open hands. "I'm going to give them to you, so you can be amazing too."

"Are you sure…? It sounds like you really love them." The story Sakura had told her just seemed so nostalgic, and Sakura really grew attached to these gloves for her development. Sarada isn't sure if she should take something like this away from her, even if Sakura willingly handed it over with a smile that said  _it's okay_.

"I don't really go on missions that much anymore, so I don't think I'll need them anymore. I didn't even know where they were until… today!" Sakura chortles, jestingly. "It's time they find a new owner."

Her eyes glaze over the dirtied gloves for a couple of seconds that Sarada lost track of. "All right, Mama… I will take them." She hopes that they will help her as much as they did for her Mama. And now, she'll always have a piece of Sakura with her, no matter where she is. Shifting slightly and letting the gloves rest on her lap, Sarada brings her Mama in for a hug. "Thank you."

Sakura happily reciprocates. "I know you'll treat them well."

Sakura decides to not mention to Sarada about the moving shadow outside the room, opting to thank Sasuke for retrieving Sarada for her.


	35. dance

**35\. dance**

.

.

"Please?"

His head gives a slight shake. "I'm an arm short."

Sakura's fingers clutch at his sleeve, the light melody of one of her favorite tunes gently blasting in the background. "Just for a bit. I'll even lead." The song is soft in volume, and it's as if the pit-pats of the rain outside doesn't even matter anymore. He looks quite unsure and she wouldn't have that. In a few seconds, Sakura coaxes him by resting his hand on her waist as one of her hands settle on his shoulder as the other rests lifts up his left sleeve as if pretending there is a hand to hold hers. "Just for a bit," she ends up repeating, and Sasuke can see the pleas in her eyes.

He concedes, if only to make her happy. She likes it when he makes her happy. "Fine."

In silence, she begins to shift them to the right—then steps back, then to the left. A waltz, she had chosen. Sakura thought he would prefer something else, perhaps casual, but the prospect of waltzing indoors ( _Sarada had informed her of a sleepover that same day_ ) to her favorite slow tune during a rainy night just screams romantic to her and a part of her would like to experience it at least once in her life.

After what Sakura counts to be ten seconds—ten seconds of seeing dimmed moonlight reflect in his eye—she begins to chat, idly, "It's not so bad, is it?" His movements are refined as ever, like his movements on the battlefield: not too subtle or discreet, light and graceful on his feet. A part of her wonders if he had ever danced before. He doesn't seem like someone who does, let alone waltz.

His lone arm twirls her out. "No, it isn't." Sasuke twirls her back in.

"How did you learn to get the moves down? Doesn't seem like it's your thing," she tells him, somewhat skeptical, but then her eyes start to gleam in a teasing way that he could recognize it with ease. "Does it have anything to do with any old mission of ours?"

They had many missions: retrieving cats from tall trees, walking angry dogs, escorting arrogant figureheads, recon, babysitting—the list goes on. Maybe he had learned dancing as a prerequisite for something like an undercover mission, she thinks.

She can hear him inhale for a bit, thoughtfully. "My mother." His feet moves in accordance to hers as he talks. "When I was little and she was bored at home, sometimes she talked me into dancing with her."

He looks a bit wistful, and Sakura almost regrets asking him anything. "Was she good at it…?"

The silence is unlike the other kind from when they began their dance. "Not too sure," Sasuke finally says, looking like he would shrug had his hand not been occupied on her waist. "Hard to know when her dance partner barely reached her knees and I had to put my feet over hers so she could lead."

There's a slight curl of the corner of his lips, but Sakura isn't sure if it could count for a half-smile. "At least she didn't have to worry about her toes getting stepped on," she lightheartedly jokes to soften the atmosphere a bit. If he's this good now, then he might've been good when he was younger. He is a prodigy, but she supposes it's a testable title.

"I did the very time we started," he casually pipes in, twirling her again.

When he twirls her back in, she feels a little daring and leans her head on his chest. "That sounds devastating." She tries to imagine a young Sasuke stepping on his mother's toes—the thought is immediately branded as ridiculous and she doesn't think of it anymore, and she giggles. "Funny to envision it, though."

She watches him part his lips and say, "She told me something that day, after I did that."

"What?" There is pressure on her head, and she doesn't have to check to know it's his chin. She half-heartedly assumes it was something about how clumsy he was, even if it is hard to imagine Uchiha Sasuke being clumsy. "That you had two left feet?" she has to tease.

"That, and—" Sakura can feel the hand around her waist wrap around her tighter. "—to dance my best when I find someone to share my life with."

Her heart nearly explodes and her cheeks are prettily red like her dress. "I-I see…" There's a thump and another thump, then another and another, and she wishes that it could somehow stop before she embarrasses herself.

It has always been her who gave him attention and love—Sakura's always greeted him with smiles, and it's always her who initiates the hand holding. It's always been that way when they had first met; Sasuke gets all of her undying attention. Sometimes, she forgets that they're husband and wife—he's always off and she's always just here that it sometimes doesn't feel that way, but her feelings for him never fades and that's how she faithfully waits.

But even so, Sakura still feels like a teenager, love-struck and dumb, whenever Sasuke does something to surprise her.

"So," he murmurs into her hair lowly. "You should let me lead this time."

The music had been trailing off, but then it seems to start all over again. Sakura stirs a little back to reality. She had forgotten the song was placed on repeat. "You sure?" Lulled by the warmth of his embrace, she didn't notice they had both stopped.

The rain continues to fall.

"I insist."

"Go ahead then."

He starts off strong, feet gliding in perfect strides and she follows along nearly harmoniously. "What about you?" he asks after a while, and she thinks he's trying to indulge her because he knows that she loves small talk.

Sakura hadn't bothered to move her head, enjoying the feel of the fabric of his vest against her cheek. "What about me?" she softly goes to ask.

"How did you learn how to dance?" He twirls her again.

She smiles as she twirls back in. "Would you believe it if I told you that I tried to take a few dance lessons when I found out I was going to attend the Academy?"

Fondly, she recalls Mebuki ardently telling her that if she wanted to become a ninja, then she must learn to develop some grace and poise—and what better way could she do that than to learn how to dance and be nimble on her feet? Kizashi had been lenient. He guffawed and reassured Sakura that she would be a great shinobi in the future whether she took those lessons or not, but he promptly shut up when Mebuki heavily insisted on dance lessons. Sakura, herself, had been somewhat hesitant, but she did wish to improve on her grace definitely.

"I do," Sasuke nonchalantly answers her, shifting them to the left.

She nearly pouts because is she really that predicta—

"You're really good, that's why."

"You and your two left feet were better than me, probably," she retorts not seriously at all, then rolls her eyes a bit. "I stumbled a lot at first. I kept falling and then my mom embarrassed me at the sidelines."

He leans the side of his face against her hair. "You improving mattered more."

"We  _both_  improved," Sakura chimes, slowly maneuvering her head a bit for comfort.

Then there is silence. They continued to sway idly at the music, and Sakura closes her eyes as Sasuke press a kiss to her head. And the rain continues to fall.


	36. sign

  **36\. sign**

.

.

There is a hawk in the air and Sakura, busily airing out the dirty laundry, is obligated to dismiss it, under the assumption that it's on its way to Naruto's office instead. After all, it's not often—or even anymore—that she gets hawk mail. Hospital notices, summons, memos; now those were common to Sakura.

The shadow of the bird doesn't simply vanish or become a gradual small dot; the hawk flies downward and begins to land, opting to use the clothes line for its perch. She's aware of whose hawk it is—those markings along the feathers and neckline are something Sakura's seen before whenever it delivered something to her. It seems to have a letter for her, the envelope slightly scarred from its talons.

Confident that Sasuke's hawk was trained well enough to not tear the contents apart, Sakura's fingers begin to pry it open after hastily pinning up the last blanket to dry off. She doesn't expect much—Sasuke doesn't really say much, she knows more than anyone, but she's always looked forward to anything he sends her regardless of word count.

Prioritizing his mission, he had made it clear that he would seldom seek contact or communicate. He had to play it safe, and stay subtle. Even though not many details were disclosed to her, she is clever enough to deduce that it would have her husband up and moving on his feet often. There wouldn't be time to stop and write. So perhaps, maybe today, he caught a break.

Sakura begins to let her mind dawdle in her thoughts, thinking about where he could be if he had time to consider sending home a letter for once. But perhaps, saying  _letter_ is something too unusual. He often left notes, not letters. He writes things like  _Congratulations_ than just a blunt  _Happy Birthday_. Because he's Sasuke and Sasuke's always been a little cryptic when it comes to words.

By her side, Sasuke's hawk makes a noise, and whether it either wanted to leave or wait to see her response, she hasn't a clue. Or maybe it's hungry—

It squawks at her.

She's rather tempted to stick out her tongue, to show it who's boss around here, but she pointedly decides not to because she doesn't want some ruffled bird tearing off her tongue. "Cheeky," she tells it and that's where she leaves it at, eyes beginning to make out the inked words on the parchment she slides up from the envelope.

_I'm fine. Don't worry.  
There hasn't been any uproars here, but I'm going to look further into it as a precaution._

A sigh is already erupting past her lips as she glumly rereads the words again, yet, when she pulls the whole piece of paper out, Sakura notices one more line at the very bottom.

_Sorry._

Her chest painfully constricts for a moment upon reading it, and it doesn't anymore. Maybe it's because she's used to this feeling already—it's just like him to apologize to her via paper when he knows, fully well, that she misses him everyday. Sakura's not sure why he would. Shinobi must fulfill their duty first: it was taught to everyone back at the Academy and Sakura's insightful memory always remembered every single line about the shinobi code that Iruka always liked to read to them.

Maybe he's sorry that he couldn't be there for…

Her head shakes, then her shoulders sink forlornly.

Sarada was always curious as to why he was never home, and Sakura could never really blame her for it. But that was when the girl was still a baby: full of wonder and innocence and  _naivety_. The more she grew up, noticing the lack of mentions about her Papa and never once hearing anything from anyone about him, and this in turn would lead Sarada growing up with bitterness. Sakura has quietly observed how her eyes would always dim whenever they pass by fathers and their children whenever Sakura needed to go to the markets.

Sakura slips the paper back into the envelope, bends backward a bit, and looks at the sky.

It feels like yesterday that Sarada was excitedly asking her about her love story with Sasuke. Her little child eyes would beam brightly and her smile would be bright like a hundred suns. Sakura misses those simple times.

Some time in the midst of her thinking, Sasuke's hawk had flown off.

.

.

"Mama, what are you doing?"

Sakura's hand immediately stops, the pen in her hand slowed to a halt, the tip resting on the paper. "Oh, Sarada…" She takes note of the messy hair Sarada seemed to have, and of course, her lack of glasses. "It's late. Were you having trouble sleeping?"

"I should be asking  _you_ that, Mama," the girl merely says back, arms crossed upon her chest as her eyebrow keenly arches up. "Are you writing a report for the hospital? You shouldn't overwork yourself."

It's almost laughable how Sakura could see herself in those dark eyes in that moment. "No, I'm not. And don't worry, I got off my shift on the usual time today, so no overworking here!" Her pen is set aside for the time being lest Sarada would come over and snatch it and force her to bed rest.

She begins to lean against the threshold of the room. "Then what are you doing?" Then, as an afterthought, she goes to include, "I was up because I wanted to drink some water. I'm going back to sleep after this."

Relieved that her reason didn't involve nightmares, Sakura hesitates just a bit. With some bravado mustered, she begins, "I'm… writing to Papa."

"Papa?!" Wide-eyed, Sarada loses composure for a moment. "Did he contact you?"

"Today, when I was airing out the laundry," Sakura informs her, softly. "He says that he's fine and that he's carefully overlooking things wherever he's at right now."  _And he wants to tell you sorry._  Sakura does not say it, and it stings. Sarada wouldn't take it well, Sakura knows.

"That's… good." It looks as if she wanted to hear more, and Sakura has to remind herself that she cannot tell her. "At least he wrote to us for once. I'm happy to know he's doing okay. Let him know for me?"

Sakura smiles. "Of course. Anything else you want to tell him while you're here?"

There is a lot going through the girl's mind—it shows in her eyes the more Sakura looks at her, and not even the dimmed lights could cast it away that easily. "No, that's all." Sarada turns on the heel of her foot and marches away, practically tromping down the hallway and Sakura feels sympathy as the door to her room clicks to a close.

Ever since the Shin incident, Sarada took great care to watch her mouth when it came to Sasuke. Sakura hadn't seen what had transpired between the two ( _with Naruto, and then she has to wonder why ChouChou, of all people, was there too?_ ) while she was bedridden, but there had been a conclusion and she  _was_ there for that and that's all that really matters to her.

When Sarada had told him goodbye and Sasuke poked her in the forehead, Sakura knew things would mend eventually. And really, that's all she would like.

.

.

_Dear Sasuke-kun,_

_Everything's okay here, and so am I! I know things must be busy for you but I know you'll finish the job, safe and sound. Naruto said that it was a miracle when I told him that you wrote home. I hit him for you._

_I'm glad that you're fine and I never doubted that. I hope you can come home again soon—Sarada looked a little lonely today at home. When you come back, I'll cook your favorites!_

_Love, Sakura._

_PS. Sarada is happy to know that you're fine too._


	37. steps

  **37\. steps**

.

.

Sasuke unsurely stares at the pictures pasted into the album of photos depicting mainly of Sarada's childhood moments when she'd been younger. This was not within his comfort zone at all, he thinks to himself.

The title on the album's cover had been handwritten in Sakura's neat scrawl with an exclamation mark: _Sarada's Memories!_ The album seems to be mocking him the more he flips through it, Sasuke's countenance growing uncomfortable from the guilt conjuring deeply in his chest as Sarada's smiling baby faces were shown to him with every flip of the page. He hadn't been there for any of these. It hadn't mattered much to him before and he didn't think of it, if at all, but now that his long duty was done and he was given leeway with spending some free time at home, Sasuke slowly found himself turning regretful at every happy memory he was told during his absence.

Feeling the couch shift, he absently remembers that he isn't alone. Sakura's indulging herself in some shameless motherly gushing, or whatever it was that mothers do when their eyes begin to shine at the prospect of doting on their children.

"—and this was from when she took her first steps at home!" Sasuke listlessly watches her gesture rather excitedly to a photo of their baby daughter, her pudgy hands reaching out to one of Sakura's, and he knows her other free hand held the camera if the odd angle was enough of a clue for him to notice. "She was so cute! She kept trying to say _Mama_ and was stumbling, but she did three steps before falling! _Three_!" Sakura's fingers rose, accounting three. "I wish you could've seen it, Sasuke-kun! It was so sweet!"

He says nothing, a tad bitter at himself, but he manages a half-smile for her indulgence before flipping the page.

His wife doesn't fail to deliver more comments, endearingly. He found it somewhat soothing after they flipped past the first two pages, as it had given him no reason to speak midst her retellings. "Oh, that's when she first learned how to brush her teeth! She looked so cute with her green toothbrush…"

He found it rather peculiar how Sakura had so many pictures—there were probably enough to hand out to every single Konoha citizen and then some.

A finger nimbly gestures to the photo next to Sarada's accomplishment of brushing her teeth. "This one was when she was trying to help me sweep while I did chores!" Fondly, Sakura's voice is warm and Sasuke indirectly felt some comfort from it. "She kept saying how she wanted to help me, and I was so touched when she just picked up the broom and started sweeping without me even asking. I knew she would grow up to be a diligent girl after that!"

Sarada's determined face peered back at him from the photo, her little six year-old hands tightly gripping a tall broom and resolutely trying to get the dust bunnies from the corner of a room.

Sasuke's chest tightens even more.

He's fully aware that he missed out on Sarada's life altogether for the past decade or so, and he expected much regret to come to him later—he does feel regret and much more, and these pictures do nothing to appease him except remind him what a crappy father he had been. He has wronged her in so many ways that if she were to hate him, he would completely understand. The mission itself was the very thing that separated him from her and with it, came many restrictions. He had strict orders; it lessened his freedom a bit.

Sasuke is a simple man. He doesn't send hawk mail out for leisure, menial conversations—that would be a waste of time, resources, and energy for the hawk. If he were to send any out, it would be to report his findings to Naruto, or maybe even one to Kakashi if he felt his old sensei was of any help on a good day. Sakura didn't get any. Not because he wanted to purge himself of her existence, but because he knew that she made him soft and he needn't such things to regress him into being a liability for the mission. He was never a liability when he's at his best.

 _It's for the sake of Konoha_ , he often recited to himself on cold dark nights, or it would be, _For my atonement._ One or the other: Sasuke knew both lines were utterly true to himself and backing out is not a choice. Uchihas were bred into anything but cowards.

Sarada was like a dew of water in the desert to him; it was all new to Sasuke for him to accommodate quickly as he could.

When Sakura was first pregnant, he honestly was stripped of words comprehensible enough to tell her what he thought. Was this what he wanted? Yes, surely it was: he wanted his family's name to carry on and children were necessary for that. Such idealistic thinking made him forget the progress that needed to be done in order to get there. A pregnant Sakura had been new to him—and he didn't know how to treat her at first, whether she should be coddled or not with a life inside her belly. It was unfathomable. But to him, it was Sakura who mattered the most and his logic had been simple enough for him to finally accept these gruesomely fast changes in his life: a child with Sakura is the proof of their connection.

"—This picture was when she had her first birthday!" Sakura was excitedly driveling on about that Sasuke paid half his attention to.

Fatherhood was a far cry from anything he could feel that he could do right. Results would end in failure for him and he does not expect a change anytime soon, and that included his social skills. "Ah."

"She has cake all over her face," chimes Sakura, nostalgia dripping from every word. This nostalgia is foreign to Sasuke. "I remembered Kiba making a funny face at her and she almost spat cake in his face from laughing!" Her head shakes. "I almost pitied him."

"Almost?" Sasuke finds himself asking back, amused, yet quizzical at how the mere mention of that dog-loving brute would be the first thing he would carry a conversation about. He never thought much about Kiba and to Sasuke, he was just someone with a face. The idiot's enthusiasm is just like the dobe's, if not, nearly identical from every angle.

Sakura smiles, obvious teasing in her crinkling eyes. "If you saw the look on his face, you would think the same too." She leaves it at that, and he smirks at the mental image she had provided him. When Sasuke flips another page, Sakura points to another photo as their routine had been the past hour on the couch. "This was taken during her first day at the Academy!"

The Sakura in the photo was clad in a lovely blue kimono and Sarada in her white shirt with a red ribbon, red skirt, and dark stockings. The formality and extravagance of Sakura's outfit against Sarada is a little jarring, but to Sasuke, it doesn't seem to matter. "How was it for her?"

"She said it could've been better," he listens to her tell him. "She was glad that ChouChou was in her class, but then she started complaining how Boruto got on her nerves." She laughs a little.

"I don't blame her."

It looks like she would've laughed a second time, albeit she restrains herself this time. "Don't be mean to Boruto when he's not around. He's your apprentice!"

Sasuke knows he isn't setting a good example when he says, "Apprentice or not, I was merely stating a fact."

"Still!" she presses, giving him a look that she would often give him for his dry humor. He's not even sure he had humor to begin with. The dobe was more suited for that, and being a fool.

Artfully disregarding the conversation in its entirety, Sasuke flips to another page with nonchalance. "Why did you take so many photos?"

This one showed baby Sarada being held by an eager Naruto as Hinata cooes. This other one showed Sarada in her baby stool, obediently finishing her vegetables. This next one showed a nine year-old Sarada in a yukata, in a festival of sorts, holding onto Sakura's hand. He idly thinks maybe Naruto's wife or that loudmouth blonde best friend of Sakura's took the photo.

The more Sasuke flips through the album, the more he saw of Sarada's life unfold—it feels so strange to see it all in the form of photographs. It's like he is a mere phantom; the Sarada in the photos seem lighter, brighter, _happier_ without him there.

Sakura begins to sit up, prim and proper and back straightening, and yet, her lips curl upward in a gentle smile that seem to soften up Sasuke more than what he would like to admit. "Because you weren't there."

His expression tightens and there are lines on his brow and he scowls a bit to himself, but he ultimately says nothing because Sasuke's not dumb enough to deny that it wasn't his fault.

"I wanted you to see them," she resumes to tell him after a stretch of silence that seemed rather foreboding if she had not spoken up again. "How else can you catch up on her life?"

She looks at him knowingly, like she knows that if he were to approach Sarada and ask her for her life story, it would just end up with awkward mumbles and silences by the end of the night. Like she knows that if Sasuke suggested letters, Sarada would bitterly remark how _he_ never sent _them_ any. Like she knows all of that and Sasuke has to ask himself how did Sakura ever come to love him again, like it's some great big riddle he could never solve.

"I see." He gives her a nod, shaky and unnerved. He always feel unlike himself when it concerns Sarada. He doesn't like that feeling, not one bit. "Thank you," he tells her after a bit of looking at the photos on his lap again. He really means it this time.

"Of course," Sakura replies, and he could hear the emotions in her voice.

Steeling himself after seeing the other dozen pages he still has yet to see in the album, Sasuke adamantly flips another page and listens to Sakura's rambles. If he were to get back on track, getting to know Sarada is part of the process.

When he finally flips to a page with a photo of ten year-old Sarada hunched over a piece of paper and a pen, he notices that Sakura quieted. "And this one?" he slowly inquires, testingly.

Sakura begins to splutter a bit, and Sakura, to his knowledge, doesn't splutter often. This photo must have involved him in some way if she looked a bit reluctant to reveal anything. "This… was when she tried to…" Eyes slowly adverting from his, she tries to find her words. "It's from when she decided to try writing you a letter."

His eyebrow begins to rise.

"W-Well, she had just learned and perfected her vocabulary and writing skills in class a-and—"

"She wanted to talk to me," Sasuke says, dryly, straight to the point, and terribly bluntly that she winced a bit. "...I didn't know. Never got it."

"She didn't intend to send it," she carefully responds, wary. "I told her that you were really busy, but one day, she decided to write to you anyways. She gave it to me to read and it was about how her day was, what she was doing in school. Sort of like a journal entry, per say." Her eyes glance to the picture again. "She didn't know where to send it off to, and since she didn't want to bother you, she didn't send it." She looks at him from his peripheral. "Regardless, I still took the picture in case… Well, in case you ever wanted to know when she started to miss you, even though I think she began to miss you before this."

"She's never met me," he murmurs, feeling utterly terrible and pressured and stressed and sad.

"Anyone would miss their father," Sakura firmly says. "The same applies here with us. But now that you're back, now's your chance to fix it. If you're willing, of course."

Grimly, he feels her hand coil around his reassuringly and he tightens his fingers as if to seek some solace. "Give me some time." Time—he didn't know if he even had that, but it would be done somehow.

Sakura smiles, and it's like a warm sunlit field.


	38. bench

**38\. bench**

.

.

Sarada was around seven when she saw the bench for the first time.

"This is it, Mama?" softly, she asks. Her fingers are warm because Mama is holding onto them securely and Sarada thinks, as she stares, that the bench looks lonelier and colder than anything she'd ever seen.

Although she didn't have to, Sakura nods, prim. "Mhm." When she looks up to meet her in the eyes, Sarada sees emotions in Mama's gaze. "It's my most important place," Mama says with a smile, the arm holding Sarada's hand a tad bit limp all of a sudden. "I'm sure it means something to Papa too." Sakura looks like she's rethinking something now. "He probably won't admit it, though. He never says much."

From the way those words sound clipped, it feels as though Sakura wanted to say  _more_ , but she doesn't—Sarada doesn't know what Papa does, what he thinks and feels or where he goes, so she says nothing except offer warmth onto the hand Mama is holding so she can be warm too.

The numbing stings of the cold waft on her legs, and Sarada clutches a bag of groceries closer to her so it won't spill. A breeze just whisked by, dead leaves of rusty browns and reds following. When she looks at Mama again, she is shivering despite the fur-lined coat she's donning. Winter can be such a pain sometimes, the little girl thinks with a grimace at her foggy glasses.

"Mama—" Tugging onto Sakura's hand, Sarada makes a suggestion that would garner them rest. "—let's sit for a bit." She momentarily shakes her knees out, trying to get some blood pumping again in vain. "My feet are tired and my legs are cold…"

"Sure; Mama is tired too." Thoughts of Papa seem to fade as Sakura's eyes gain back some shine, and she smiles and nods. Yet, Sarada also sees hesitation that dissipated as quickly as it came, in the form of stiff shoulders and sagging of her eyebrows. "But only for a few minutes! It won't do us any good if we're both sick." Mama utters a low chuckle and it seems faint. She pulls her daughter closer as they approach the bench.

Sarada doesn't know why Mama looks happy, yet so sad. "But you're a doctor, Mama! We are sick-proof." True to her seven year-old nature, she swings her feet lightly over the bench as the coldness of the bench slowly becomes warm under her skirt and black stockings. The bag of securely-kept vegetables and seasonings on her lap tells her a quiet  _job well done_  for keeping them safe.

Mama finally lets out a laugh and it sounds tenfold better, and her eyes are crinkling. "Smart thinking!" Her hand raises and Sarada's beanie is soon flattened from her patting. "But even doctors have their weaknesses, y'know! Sometimes, even Mama gets sick and needs bed rest like any other person."

"To me, Mama is like a super woman!" Sarada boldly tells her, smiling despite the cold air numbing her jaw. "I don't have to worry a lot, because I know you're there for me. So even if I'm sick, I don't mind because I know Mama will help fix me up."

Sarada feels herself being pushed back, her abdomen tackled, and then she feels arms around her and the familiar fabric of Mama's coat wrapped around her. "Hey you! Stop being so adorable! Mama can't take it anymore!" With Sarada's face buried into the coat, she cannot see how Sakura's face alight with glistening eyes and loving smiles. "What did I do to deserve you?!" she cooes.

"Mama, stop!" With pink cheeks, the seven year-old prays with closing eyes that they didn't have any witnesses. At her age, this is embarrassing! She felt herself ready to say as such, but then Sarada tilts her head up and sees Mama's happiness and then all of it dies on the tip of her tongue.

While she doesn't know much, she hopes Mama would see today as a new happy memory for this bench.

.

.

Sarada was twelve when she saw the bench again.

Sasuke stops walking when he sees her stop, a domino effect unintentionally gone right. "Something wrong?" he speaks up soon after. He shifts a box under his right arm. It's a box of a few supplies Sakura had requested them bring to her office—she'd been much too busy today to get them herself and Sasuke, miraculously, has time off.

Shaking her head, Sarada immediately tries to dismiss any alarmed thoughts her Papa might have at the sudden stop in their excursion. "O-Oh, nothing, Papa!" Knowing better than to tell white lies in front of the man who is much too perceptive than her, she relents to his unspoken curiosity. "I was just wondering about that bench."

Following the finger she had gestured towards the aforementioned object, Sasuke is quiet. Sarada can tell why.

"What about it?" he eventually says back, seemingly nonplussed.

Sarada actually didn't know why either, why she bothered to stop and stare. "I remembered that Mama showed it to me once." Idly, her arms readjust a small box of medical kits within it. "She told me that this bench was her most important place." Sasuke says nothing, and Sarada ventures on. "She looked happy that day when she looked at it. She mentioned you too, Papa. I just thought… it's nice that this bench was a very special place for you two."

"...It is," utters Sasuke, his tone sounding a little far away.

She's pleasantly surprised, because she didn't think he would admit such a thing. "Something from your childhood?" she goes to ask, feeling proding. Mama and Papa never really told her stories of their childhood together ( _to this day, Sarada ponders about their love story_ ) so she'll always try to take what she can get. Always willing to take whatever they feel that they can share.

"It is," he repeats again, more firmly. This time, he dares a glance at the bench. "Many things happened here. Good and bad. Things that your mother and I will never forget."

"Can you tell me a few then?"

He hesitates. "Not yet," he goes to amend, knowing that his reluctance was a  _no_ from him. "But we can sit on it, if you're tired."

She doesn't remark on how this gives her a case of deja vu, but she smiles, almost cheekily. "I'll take you up on that now. I'm positive Mama won't mind us being a little late—" At this point, she is turning and approaching the bench, him following behind with sluggish steps. "—since we're only bringing her spare materials that she already has."

Casually, she sits on the same side where she sat a long time ago with Sakura. It's funny how this bench means so much to her parents, yet now it also feels like it means a lot to Sarada too—like they're all intertwined again.

"We should still go soon," Papa says after quietly placing the box of medical papers and supplies on his lap. Sarada mimics him with her box.

"Right," she concedes, nonchalantly, her eyes people watching. "After all, Mama always looks happiest when you're around." Sarada, victoriously, glistens when she hears a slight cough from her side.

This bench no longer looks as lonely or cold as she once saw it as.

"Next time, we should sit here with Mama," suggests her, optimistically. "If it means so much to you two, then maybe we should sit here as a family." Her finger taps her chin. "Like, making new memories! Mama used to tell me that it's better to have happy memories than sad ones."

Eyes softening, they hide under his eyelids as he smiles. "One day, we should."


	39. out

**39\. out**

.

.

"It's not that bad, is it?"

He gives her a look, one that involves sagging lips and a curt movement of his eyebrow. "Define bad," intones Sasuke, the slit of his eye narrowing more as his glare tries to pierce the back of Naruto's head. Displeased, he sourly continues to walk besides Sakura, his cloak shielding the sight of his fist clenching.

"Um,  _bad_ as in…" She swerves her eyes, adverting his, and her tone is near mocking. "Not good?" Smiling, Sakura beams, purposefully ignorant.

Naruto, ahead of them, proceeds to stop and marvel at a cotton candy stand—he wears a grin, exuberant, and nudges Sarada to ask if she would like one. Around them, festival goers are mostly in pairs or groups, also wandering in the stuffy atmosphere that Sasuke absolutely detests.

With a grimace, Sasuke watches as Naruto led Sarada, Boruto, and Himawari to the aforementioned stand. Sakura looked as if she would've went too, but Sasuke could tell her plan was to placate  _him_ tonight. He doesn't need placating,  _goddammit_.

"I'm surprised Naruto hasn't caught on fire yet with how hard you keep glaring," she comments, amused. This is  _far_ from amusing, he thinks. "You should loosen up,  _anata_ , or else you'll get more wrinkles that way. This is an outing, after all!"

"A  _family_ outing," he grits.

How can he cross that gap across the bridge with Sarada if Naruto is there to whisk her off before he could? It'd been hard enough for Sasuke to mend that unbearable tension, and he certainly isn't blind to his daughter's admiration for the dobe. The last time he and her were at a festival together, things went horribly wrong ( _thanks to that no-good Kakashi giving him stupid advice from a stupid book_ ) and this could've been a better opportunity to get along with her since Sakura would be there too.

 _Annoying_. All the things he tries to do to make it up to her. This was all just annoying.

Really annoying.

Patiently, Sakura tells him, "Yes. And Naruto is family too, remember?"

Sasuke bristles. If he heard one more  _Uncle Naruto_  today—

One look from Sakura has him grimacing again. "The festival's only just begun! I'm sure you can talk to her at some point." She easily loops her arm with his, lightly tugging him. "For now, live a little! You're supposed to have fun at festivals!"

Nearly stumbling, he grunts and keeps up with her pace as they follow after Naruto to the other stalls. Despite what she tells him, Sasuke knows  _having fun_ isn't his thing. So when they approach a stand and he sees people of various ages trying to shoot down targets on ducklings rowing across a board for a prize, he is the only one not to approach closer.

Feeling the stop, Sakura becomes close to tasting dirt had it not been their looped arms—then she turns to him with  _those_ eyes, and Sasuke knows he sealed his fate.

He tells her, "No."

She widens her eyes at him.

"...No." He can hear Naruto's failed attempts at censoring himself when he missed a clear shot, then he hears Boruto's low mutterings. Himawari giggles from the sidelines, and Sarada sighs.

That's what he can hear, but all he can  _see_ is Sakura pouting. "You told me you'd try to have fun before we came here!" She briefly looks at Naruto and others, then adds, "You have good aim. Why don't you try it out instead?" Subtly, she tries to tilt her chin towards the game—where the prizes were at, where Sarada was at. Sakura didn't have to, but she smiles knowingly.

A faint sight exhaled, he slowly trudges forward and harrumphs once at Naruto's second attempt. Sakura is following him and Sarada is watching him now, but Sasuke cannot help but insert, "Your skill is pitiful."

Naruto lowers his fake pistol and if Sasuke said anymore, his veins would burst. "And you think you can do better?"

Sasuke assumes his strained grin was due to the idiot's two children present, but he wonders why Boruto looks starry-eyed as he extends his lone hand in request for the pistol. "I know so," he simply says, casually.

Naruto knew better than to start a fight—that would reflect badly on his Hokage status, Sasuke knows, smugly—so he grumbles, unpleasant, and switches place with him. Boruto and Sarada eye him with interest, Sakura is behind him and he can tell she's quietly cheering him on. He doesn't need luck.

His finger clicks.

The shot, a dart, pins directly in the middle of the target with ease—the sight of it gives Sasuke a sense of nostalgia, a very sad and hurtful kind. Itachi would've liked this game. He did something like that a lot back at the training grounds.

Naruto's mumbling stir him awake again, Sakura standing next to him with a bright smile. The stand's owner congratulate him first, then offers him an opportunity to pick a prize. Inwardly shaking his head of other thoughts that could haunt him, Sasuke peers at the offered objects despite knowing that all of them would garner absolutely no interest from him. These things were meaningless to him.

"Which one do you want?" he asks after some silence, glancing to Sarada.

She jostles a bit, surprised. "Eh…?" Her head tilts quizzically.

Sasuke resumes, "None of them interest me. Instead of getting something that I would end up discarding, I would rather someone else take it." What would he even take with him?  _Meaningless_.

"Oh…" Sarada's eyes dart between the presented items, finding logic in his reasoning. Granted, many things were toys—Sasuke cannot see himself taking any of these. "That one." Her index finger gestures to a toy fan, a big cherry blossom imprinted on the front. "It reminds me of Mama!" she sheepishly admits, pink on her cheeks. Sakura ruffles her head with affection.

As the stall owner takes it down for her, Sasuke's gaze willfully lingers on it.

As Sakura politely thanks the man for the prize, Naruto takes the opportunity to usher Boruto and Himawari to the stall behind them because Himawari had exclaimed at some point about getting takoyaki. Sasuke half-heartedly paid attention to anything else transpiring as he trails behind Sarada walking over to join in.

Beside him, Sakura pokes him in the arm with the prize he'd won. "Y'know, she picked out a fan."

He nods, solemn. "Yes."

She gives him a look, one that entails a message that he hadn't tried to uncode. "A fan."

"Ah."

"A  _fan_."

His eyebrow raises at the heavy insistence. "Is there a point to this?"

"The Uchiha symbol is a fan," Sakura ends up stating, idly twirling the object in her hands. Then she looks up to him with that knowing look again. "I don't think it's just because of me that she picked it out."

Quietly, Sasuke stares at the floor as they traverse the street, taking a right turn because Naruto and the children apparently decided to go check out the festival masks for sale, takoyaki in hand. When he looks up again, after some contemplating, he gently takes the fan from his wife, looking at it with softened eyes. "Ah."

His gaze captured by the fan, Sakura smiles and kisses his cheek—and then it feels like home again to Sasuke.


End file.
